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STUDIES  IN 


German  Literature 


BAYARD    TAYLOR 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 

GEORGE    H.    BOKER 


NEW  YORK 

G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

183  Fifth  Avenue 

1879 


COPTEIGHT 

18?  9 
Bt  G.  p.  Putnam's  Sons 


r  I       • 


0TATE  TCAC 
g^NTA  EAPBA 


7,^J-7 


INTRODirCTION. 


It  was  the  known  intention  of  Bayard  Taylor  to  pre- 
pare the  material  wliich  composes  the  following  work 
for  jDublication.  A  j)artial  arrangement  for  that  pur- 
pose had  been  made  between  him  and  the  j)resent  pub- 
lishers. Had  he  lived  to  complete  his  plan,  doubtless 
the  form  of  the  matter  would  have  been  changed,  by 
adapting  it  to  the  reader  rather  than  the  hearer,  and 
the  scope  of  the  whole  work  would  have  been  enlarged 
and,  here  and  there,  elaborated,  so  as  to  complete  a 
design  which  was  necessarily  restricted  by  the  brief 
limits  of  time  prescribed  to  a  course  of  lectures. 

However  much  additional  interest  might  have  been 
given  to  the  work,  had  Taylor  lived  to  carry  out  his 
purpose,  the  editors  felt  themselves  to  be  unauthorized 
to  attemjjt  changes  so  serious,  which  might  have  left 
upon  the  volume  the  impress  of  their  literary  style  and 
opinions  rather  than  those  of  the  actual  author.  Noth- 
ing beyond  the  corrections  of  verbal  errors  and  of  over- 


iv  INTRODUCTION, 

sights  lias  tlierefore  been  attempted.  The  original 
manuscrijats  of  the  author  have  been  closely  followed, 
even  to  the  preservation  of  the  lecture  form,  which, 
now  and  then,  may  seem  to  be  better  adapted  to  oral 
delivery,  and  to  the  sympathetic  appreciation  of  a 
crowded  lecture-room,  than  to  critical  examination 
under  the  dry  light  of  the  study. 

The  object  at  which  Taylor  aimed,  in  preparing  his 
course  of  lectures  for  delivery  before  the  students  of 
Cornell  University,  in  which  institution  he  held  an 
honorary  professorship,  was  that  the  lectures  should 
serve  as  an  introduction  to  the  literature  of  Germany. 
He  claimed  nothing  more  for  them.  Completely  as  he 
may  have  treated  of  some  subjects — as  in  the  lecture 
devoted  to  the  dissection  and  the  elucidation  of  the 
underlying  moral  purpose  of  "Faust,"  or  in  that  one  in 
which  he  makes  clear  and  gives  relative  position  to  the 
strange  and  abnormal  genius  of  Ptichter — in  the  main 
his  object  was  rather  to  introduce,  to  interest  and  to 
invite  the  student  to  a  further  pursuit  of  the  subject  for 
himself,  than  to  provide  him  with  accurate  and  thor- 
ough knowledge  of  a  field  so  wide  as  that  of  the  litera- 
ture of  the  most  cultivated  nation  of  Europe.  Not  one 
course  of  lectures  nor  many  courses,  not  one  volume 
nor  many  volumes,  could  have  accomplished  a  task  so 


mTBODUCTIOm  Y 

vast  as  a  full  critical  history  of  German  literature,  from 
its  remote  Gothic  sources  to  its  gigantic  product  in 
Goethe  and  his  famous  contemporaries.  The  reader 
will  therefore  take  these  lectures  for  what  they  profess 
to  be,  at  that  value  which  the  author  himself  set  upon 
them,  as  a  guide  to  intending  students  of  German 
literature,  and  not  as  a  profound  commentary,  ad- 
dressed to  those  who  are  already  well  versed  in  the 
subject. 

However  modest  may  have  been  Taylor's  aim  in 
making  his  lectures  elementary  and  popular,  rather 
than  profound  and  exclusive,  such  was  the  native  power 
of  his  intellect  and  the  depth  of  his  knowledge  of 
German  literature,  that,  whenever  he  touches  an  author 
critically,  he  rises  to  a  style  of  treatment  that  may  win 
the  admiration  of  the  most  scholarly,  and  furnish  food 
for  reflection  to  the  most  thoughtful.  The  lectures  on 
Goethe  and  that  greatest  of  modern  poems,  "Faust," 
and  on  that  literary  curiosity,  half  god  and  half  moun- 
tebank, Jean  Paul,  are  filled  with  the  light  of  discov- 
ery, and  abound  with  the  most  subtle  and  suggestive 
critical  analysis.  The  marks  of  the  same  powerful 
hand  may  be  discerned  throughout  the  other  lectures. 
Taylor  touched  nothing  that  he  did  not  beautify; 
nothing  came  beneath  his  eye  that  did  not  glow  with 


vi  introduction: 

an  infectious  liglit ;  fresli  truth  was  born  of  every  old 
truth  which  he  disclosed ;  and  so  great  was  his  rever- 
ence for  intellectual  superiority,  that  the  heroes  of  his 
theme  rose  into  demi-gods  through  his  mere  compan- 
ionship. 

The  difference  between  a  lecture  and  a  treatise  is  as 
great  as  that  between  an  oration  and  an  essay.  The 
former  addresses  itself  to  the  mind,  through  the  fleet- 
ing perceptions  of  the  ear,  and  gives  no  time  to  the 
understanding  for  the  revising  process  of  thought.  The 
style  of  the  lecture  should  be  simple,  direct  and  forci- 
ble. It  should  not  be  so  elaborate  and  complex,  in  its 
manner  of  announcing  truth,  as  to  call  upon  the  logical 
powers  of  the  hearer,  lest  the  thread  of  the  discourse 
be  lost  from  the  moment  the  effort  at  reasoning  begins. 
An  argument  is  out  of  place  in  a  lecture.  It  should 
give  us  the  fruits  of  the  intellect  rather  than  the  pro- 
cess by  which  they  matured.  It  should  treat  its  subject 
dogmatically.  It  should  pour  itself,  in  an  entire  and 
unbroken  stream,  into  the  ear  of  the  hearer,  with  a  cur- 
rent that  should  bear  him  along,  without  the  chance  or 
the  wish  for  a  pause  of  reflection,  satisfied  with  the 
present  idea  and  eager  for  the  next,  both  will  and 
reason  enchained,  passive  and  compliant  under  the 
spell  of  the    speaker's   voice,   postponing  to   another 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

occasion  all  intellectual  differences  and  all  doubts  of 
the  seeming  truths  whicli  are  uttered.  These  qualities 
will  be  found,  as  they  should  be  found,  in  the  lectures 
before  us.  The  style  is  so  pure  and  simple  that  no  one 
can  mistake  the  meaning  of  a  sentence  of  the  text,  while 
it  often  attains  to  passages  of  unconscious  eloquence, 
that  must  indeed  have  been  striking  when  heightened 
by  the  noble  presence,  the  skilful  elocution  and  the 
earnest  mien  of  the  author. 

Keeping  in  mind  the  wide  difference  of  treatment 
that  should  be  found  in  subjects  addressed  to  the  ear 
from  those  addressed  to  the  eye,  we  know  that  we  do 
Taylor  scant  justice  in  thus  literally  reproducing  his 
lectures  from  the  original  manuscripts,  rather  than  in 
the  more  elaborated  form  of  the  essay,  into  which  he 
would  have  cast  them  for  publication.  We  deprive  them 
of  his  vitalizing  presence,  without  instilling  into  them 
the  new  life  which  he  might  have  given  them  with  the 
after-touches  of  his  fruitful  pen,  and  we  perpetuate  in 
them  qualities  which,  although  both  proper  and  admi- 
rable in  oral  delivery,  may  awaken  cavil  or  antagonism 
when  reproduced  in  hard  jirint.  This  dilemma  was, 
however,  unavoidable.  The  editors  feel  themselves  to 
be  simply  the  intermediaries  between  the  author  and 
the  public.     However  much  these  lectures  might  have 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

been  improved  by  toning  them  down  to  the  strict  de- 
corum of  matter  intended  for  publication,  by  excluding 
from  them  the  forms  in  which  audiences  are  addressed 
or  appealed  to,  as  well  as  certain  familiarities  and  play- 
fulnesses of  phraseology — all  quite  fitting  in  a  lecture, 
and  enjoyable  by  the  hearers ; — yet  we  felt  a  reluctance 
to  touch  the  text  of  Taylor  with  irreverent  hands,  or  to 
tear  to  pieces  even  that  which  we  meant  to  reconstruct, 
or  to  assume  a  responsibility  in  the  act  which  the  pub- 
lic might  not  be  disposed  to  tolerate.  Taylor  was  too 
high  a  character,  and  he  filled  too  large  a  place  in  our 
literature,  to  be  subjected,  in  the  helplessness  of  death, 
to  the  wrong  of  having  his  work  tampered  with,  even 
by  tender  hands,  devoted  to  fulfilling  a  purpose  of  his 
own.  The  master's  hand  is  as  stiff  as  the  pencil  which 
he  held,  his  blood  is  as  dry  as  the  colors  upon  his 
palette  :  let  the  pupils  stand  before  his  unfinished  work 
in  the  stillness  of  reverence ;  but  let  no  one  impose  a 
tone  or  a  tint  upon  the  canvas,  lest  the  world  of  to-day 
and  the  world  of  to-morrow  should  say  that  the  picture 
is  not  his. 

G.  H.  B. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Introduction iii 

I.  E-VRLiEST  German  Literature 1 

II.  The  Minnesingers 29 

III.  The  Medieval  Epic 61 

IV.  The  Nibelungenlied 101 

V.  The  Literature  op  the  Reformation 135 

VL  The  Literature  op  the  Seventeenth  Century 167 

VII.  Lessing 200 

VIII.  Klopstock,  Wieland  and  Herder 234 

IX.  Schiller 260 

X,  Goethe 304 

XI.  Goethe's   "  Faust  " 337 

XU   RiCHTEB 388 


I. 

EARLIEST   GERMAN   LITERATURE. 

Every  one  knows  Iiotv  mucli  is  added  to  our  under- 
standinec  of  an  author's  works  when  we  become  ac- 
quainted  with  his  biography.  We  thus  discover  what 
qualities  he  has  inherited,  what  others  have  been  deve- 
loped through  the  vicissitudes  of  his  life,  and  what  have 
been  attained  by  labor  and  asj)iration.  This  is  equally 
true  of  the  literature  of  a  race.  It  has  its  pedigree,  its 
birth  and  childhood,  its  uncertain  youth,  and  its  vary- 
ing fortunes  through  the  ages,  before  it  reaches  a  ma- 
ture and  permanent  character.  Although  it  grows  in 
grace  and  variety  of  expression,  and  charms  us  most 
when  it  gives  large  and  lofty  utterance  to  the  thought 
and  feeling  of  our  own  times,  we  none  the  less  need  to 
turn  back  and  listen  to  the  prattle  of  its  infancy. 

I  therefore  propose  to  go  back  to  the  earliest  known 
foundation  from  which  German  Literature  grew,  and  to 
trace,  in  outlines  which  I  shall  try  to  make  both  simple 
and  clear,  the  chief  phenomena  of  its  early  life.  The  task 
is  not  easy ;  for  the  development  of  tlie  literature  of  a 
people  must  inevitably  take  hold  of  History  with  one 
hand,  and  of  Philology  with  the  other, — both  sciences 
essential  to  the  intimate  knowledge  of  all  important 
1  1 


2  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

literary  works,  yet  forbidden  to  me  witliin  tlie  limits 
wliicli  I  have  cliosen.  But,  even  after  avoiding,  as  far 
as  may  be  possible,  liistorical  and  philological  digres- 
sions, I  find  myself  embarrassed  by  the  abundance 
of  the  ]3urely  literary  material ;  for  the  annals  of  Ger- 
many not  only  extend  much  further  into  the  j)ast  than 
those  of  England,  but  the  research  of  her  scholars  has 
been  longer  and  more  laboriously  employed  in  illumi- 
nating the  dark  corners  of  her  history.  The  dullest 
chronicler,  the  most  mechanical  rhymester  who  ever 
turned  the  hand-organ  of  doggerel,  if  he  has  left  but 
a  paragraph  or  couplet  behind  him,  is  labelled  and 
placed  on  his  pedestal  in  the  pantheon  of  early  Teu- 
tonic letters ;  but,  fortunately,  no  disguise  of  language, 
no  magic  of  distance  or  the  romance  of  circumstances, 
can  wholly  bewilder  us.  When  we  begin  honestly  and 
earnestly  to  study  the  records  which  have  been  pre- 
served, we  soon  perceive  the  relative  value  of  names 
and  achievements,  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  separate  the 
few  original,  really  creative  minds  from  the  croAvd  of 
imitators  and  secondary  intelligences. 

I  shall,  therefore,  confine  myself  to  those  names  and 
works  which  belong,  by  undoubted  right,  to  the  literary 
history  of  Germany, — the  landmarks,  sometimes  wide 
apart,  which  indicate  change  and  progress, — and  shall 
simplify  my  task  by  the  omission  of  many  names  Avliich 
would  furnish,  at  best,  only  a  dry  catalogue,  difficult  to 
remember,  and  of  little  value  Avhen  remembered. 


EARLIEST  GEBMAN  LITERATURE.  3 

The  aborigines  of  Germany  had  their  bards,  their 
battle-songs,  and  their  sacrificial  hymns,  when  they  first 
became  known  to  the  Romans.  From  the  little  which 
Tacitus  tells  us,  we  are  justified  in  inferring  a  more  ad- 
vanced stage  of  civilization  among  the  Germans  than  is 
now  implied  in  the  term  "barbarian."  The  Romans, 
like  the  Greeks,  looked  down  upon  all  other  races  with 
a  certain  degree  of  contempt,  and  generally  misrepre- 
sented both  their  condition  and  their  capacities.  When 
the  emperor  Julian  the  Apostate  declares  that  the 
songs  of  the  people  on  the  Rhine  sounded  to  him  like 
tile  cries  of  birds  of  prey,  his  oj^inion  is  worth  no  more 
to  us  than  that  of  any  man  now-a-days  who  thinks  the 
German  language  harsh  and  disagreeable  because  his 
ear  is  not  accustomed  to  the  sound  of  it.  About  the 
time  of  Julian's  short  reign,  a  work  was  written,  which 
has  escaped  to  refute  the  inference  which  might  be 
drawn  from  his  statement, — or,  at  least,  to  render  it 
very  improbable.  This  work  has  only  a  philological 
relation  to  German  literature,  but  the  interest  which 
it  possesses  in  this  respect  is  so  remarkable, — it  stands 
so  entirely  alone,  with  nothing  before  it,  and  nothing 
for  nearly  four  hundred  years  after  it, — that  one  must 
here  pause,  having  found  the  starting-point  of  our  in- 
vestigations. 

"When  the  Goths  commenced  their  migration  west- 
ward from  the  plains  north  of  the  Black  Sea,  in  the 
fourth    century   after   Christ,    they   gradually   became 


4-  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Christianized  on  the  way.  One  of  the  first  converts, 
by  name  Ulfilas,  born  in  the  year  318,  became  a  bishop 
of  great  sanctity,  who  was  highly  honored  by  the  em- 
perors of  the  East.  He  died  in  388,  immediately  after 
attending  the  oecumenical  council  of  Constantinople, 
where  he  defended  the  Arian  doctrine.  The  Goths, 
I  may  here  remark,  remained  Arians  for  three  hundred 
years  longer,  and  their  priests  read  the  services  in  their 
own  language  until  the  ninth  century.  Ulfilas  trans- 
lated the  Bible,  except  the  Books  of  Kings  and  Chro- 
nicles, into  Gothic;  and  tradition  says  that  he  was 
obliged  to  invent  an  alphabet,  as  the  Goths  had  no 
written  language  at  that  time.  Copies  of  his  transla- 
tion were  known  to  be  in  existence  about  the  year  900 ; 
then  they  disappeared,  and  the  work  was  lost  to  the 
world  for  more  than  six  hundred  years.  The  fact  that 
Ulfilas  was  an  Arian  undoubtedly  caused  his  translation 
to  be  regarded  as  heretical,  and  led  to  its  suppression. 
Toward  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century,  Mercator, 
who  has  given  his  name  to  his  projection  of  the  ^lobe, 
discovered  the  four  Gospels  of  Ulfilas  in  the  Abbey  of 
Werder,  in  Northern  Germany.  Tlie  ancient  manu- 
script was  carried  to  Prague,  where,  at  the  close  of 
the  Thirty  Years'  War,  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
Swedish  Count  Konigsmark,  who  presented  it  to  the 
University  of  Upsala.  It  is  called  the  "  Codex  Argen- 
teus,"  or  silver  codex,  from  its  being  illuminated  in  sil- 
ver letters  on  purple  parchment.     In  the  year  1818,  the 


EARLIEST  GEBMAN  LITERATURE.  5 

Epistles  of  St.  Paul,  in  tlie  translation  of  Ulfilas,  Mere 
discovered  in  the  monastery  of  Bobbio,  in  Lombardy. 
Thus  we  have  recovered  nearly  the  whole  of  the  New 
Testament  in  Gothic,  written  within  twenty  or  thirty 
years  of  the  same  time  when  the  celebrated  Greek 
manuscripts  of  Mount  Sinai  and  the  Vatican  are  be- 
lieved to  have  been  "«Titten. 

The  value  of  this  work  requires  no  explanation.  The 
German  scholars  seem  to  be  entirely  agreed  that  the 
language  of  the  Goths  in  the  fourth  century,  thus  risen 
to  new  life  after  centuries  of  death,  is  very  superior 
to  the  German  language,  to  which  it  gave  birth,  in 
harmony  and  purity  of  tone,  in  grammatical  construc- 
tion, in  richness  and  precision  of  expression,  and  espe- 
cially in  dignity  and  power.  Tliey  find  it  familiar  and 
foreign  at  the  same  time,  hinting  its  old  relationship  of 
blood  and  feeling,  yet  breathing  of  mucli  that  has  been 
lost  in  the  mixing  of  the  races  and  washed  away  by  time. 

If  the  Gothic  language  be  the  legitimate  mother  of 
the  Old  German,  it  must  also  be,  through  the  Saxon, 
the  grandmother  of  English,  and  of  the  Swedish  and 
Danish.  A  single  passage  from  the  Gospels  of  Ulfilas 
will  make  this  evident,  even  to  those  who  are  not  far 
advanced  in  German  studies.  I  take  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
which,  phrase  by  phrase,  can  easily  be  compared  witli 
either  the  English  or  German  words  : 

Atta  imsar,  tliu  in  liiminam,  veilinai  namo  thein  ;  qvimai  tliiudi- 
nassus  tlieins  ;  vairtbai  vilja  theins,  sve  in  liimina,  jah  ana  airtbai ; 


6  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Llaif  unsarana  tliana  sinteinan  gif  uns  himma  daga  ;  jah  aflet  uns 
tliatei  skulanssijaima  svasve  jah  veis  afletam  tliaini  skulamunsaiaim  ; 
jail  ni  briggais  uus  iu  fraistubnjai,  ak  lausei  uns  af  thamma  ubilin  ; 
unte  theiua  ist  thiudangardi,  jah  mahts,  jah  vulthus  iu  aivins.    Amen. 

Here  we  see  one  of  the  lost  stages  of  travel,  whereby 
many  of  the  words  of  our  daily  usage  were  carried  from 
their  far  home  iu  India,  through  Tartary,  over  the  Cau- 
casus, around  the  Black  Sea,  and  so  westward  until  they 
reach  history.  It  is  a  curious  circumstance  that  the 
two  sounds  of  ih,  in  English,  are  derived  from  the 
Gothic.  The  German  race  must  once  have  used  these 
sounds,  and  then  have  lost  them.  But  they  were  carried 
by  the  Visigoths  to  Spain,  and  still  belong  to  Icelandic, 
after  having  been  dropped  out  of  Swedish  and  Danish. 
We  might  almost  say  that  the  Gothic  of  Ulfilas  is  the 
point  whence  the  elements  which  have  become  separated 
in  English  and  German  began  to  diverge ;  but  there 
are  one  or  two  later  fragments  wherein  they  are  still 
blended. 

A  language  so  finely  developed  as  the  Gothic  must 
have  had  its  literature.  We  may  assume  this  as  cer- 
tain, even  without  evidence.  Nevertheless,  as  in  those 
buildings  of  the  Middle  Ages  which  are  constructed  out 
of  the  ruins  of  Roman  and  Grecian  cities,  we  still  see 
the  ancient  chisel-marks  and  fragments  of  carvings  and 
inscriptions,  so  in  the  literature  of  the  German  lan- 
guage, after  it  took  its  distinct  form,  we  constantly  de- 
tect the  earlier  Gothic  material.  But  we  are  unable 
to  reconstruct  the  fragments.     We  only  know  that  the 


EARLIEST  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  7 

sixtli  and  seventh,  centuries  must  have  been  rich  iu 
songs  and  warlike  ballads,  which  kept  alive  the  deeds 
of  Theodoric  and  Odoaker,  kings  of  Italy,  and  Attila, 
the  Hun,  and  the  heroes  of  Burgundy  and  Flanders  who 
still  survive  in  the  ''JSfibdungenlied."  As  Christianity 
extended  its  dominion,  the  influence  of  the  priests  was 
exerted  to  substitute  sacred  for  secular  literature.  The 
Greek  and  Eoman  authors,  moreover,  constituted  an 
aristocracy,  beside  which  any  j)i"oductions  of  a  language 
counted  barbaric,  must  sink  to  the  lowest  j)leT^eian 
level.  What  learning  there  was  in  those  days,  we  may 
easily  imagine,  turned  up  its  nose  at  the  strains  of  the 
native  minstrels. 

The  man  who  converted  the  pagan  Saxons  by  the 
sword,  who  laid  the  first  broad  foundations  of  German 
nationality  and  German  civilization,  was  the  first  to 
value  these  half-suppressed  elements  of  a  new  literature. 
He  is  called  Karl  the  Great  in  the  history  of  his  own 
race,  but  we  know  him  better  as  Charlemagne.  While 
in  the  interest  of  Christianity,  he  put  down  the  old 
Teutonic  religion  with  one  hand  and  j)nshed  back  the 
Saracens  with  the  other,  he  was  far  wiser  than  the 
Christian  spirit  of  his  day.  He  did  not  attempt  to 
transfer  the  already  crumbled  culture  of  pagan  Rome 
to  the  banks  of  the  Ehine,  but  used  it  as  a  guide  to  a 
new,  an  independent  German  culture.  His  one  mistake 
was  that  he  confided  the  execution  of  his  plans  exclu- 
sively to  the  clergy,  as  the  only  educated  class,  instead 


8  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

of  creating  a  class  of  learned  men  outside  the  pale  of 
the  Church. 

Charlemagne  loved  the  German  language,  and  was 
acquainted  with  its  songs  and  ballads.  He  caused  a 
complete  collection  of  the  latter  to  be  made,  and  had 
them  sung  or  recited  at  his  court,  rightly  seeing  in  them 
the  basis  of  a  new  literature.  We  are  perhaps  indebted 
to  this  circumstance  for  the  reappearance  of  the  ancient 
themes  in  the  later  epics  ;  but  the  original  collection  is 
irrevocably  lost.  Ludwig  the  Pious  undid,  as  far  as  it 
was  possible,  the  great  national  work  of  his  father.  In 
his  bigoted  old  age,  he  refused  to  hear  the  German 
songs  which  he  was  accustomed  to  recite  in  his  youth, 
— and  we  can  understand  how  immediately  the  clergy 
would  take  advantage  of  his  j)rejudices,  to  suppress  the 
growing  national  taste,  and  keep  literature  as  well  as 
religion  in  their  own  -hands.  The  long  strife  between 
Germany  and  Eome,  which  has  broken  out  afresh  in 
our  time,  secretly  existed  then.  Although  some  of  the 
early  German  emperors  virtually  selected  the  popes, 
the  Church  was  patient,  and  probably  then  anticipated 
the  day  when,  at  Canossa,  two  hundred  and  fifty  j^ears 
later,  Gregory  VII.  would  set  his  foot  on  a  German 
emperor's  neck. 

The  treaty  of  Verdun,  in  843,  between  the  grandsons 
of  Charlemagne,  was  a  fortunate  event  for  Germany,  if 
it  could  have  been  perpetual,  for  it  dissolved  the  politi- 
cal connection  with  Italy.     But  death  and  life  were  tied 


EARLIEST  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  9 

together  by  Otto  I.,  a  liiindred  years  later,  and  tlie  evil 
tliat  followed  lias  not  been  worked  out  of  the  race 
to  this  day.  We  have  no  record  of  any  particular 
edict  concerning  the  suj^pression  of  the  collection  of 
ballads  made  by  order  of  Charlemagne  ;  but  the  multi- 
plication of  copies  must  have  ceased  during  the  reign 
of  his  son,  and  those  already  in  existence  could  hardly 
survive  theological  j)rejudice  for  three  hundred  years, 
until  the  Hohenstaufen  emperors  protected  a  new  era 
of  literature. 

From  the  few  fragments  of  the  language  which  have 
been  preserved,  I  shall  quote  a  j^art  of  the  oath  of  Charles 
the  Bald,  the  grandson  of  Charlemagne,  in  842,  very 
nearly  five  hundred  years  later  than  the  Gothic  of  Ulfi- 
las.  You  will  notice  that  both  the  German  and  Scan- 
dinavian elements  have  become  more  marked,  while 
the  English,  or  rather  Anglo-Saxon  character,  has  been 
diminished  by  separation : 

In  godes  minna  ind  in  thes  claristianes  folches  ind  unser  bedherS 
gelialtnissi,  fon  thesemo  dage  f  rammordes,  so  f  ram  so  mir  got  gewiczi 
indi  malid  furgibit,  so  baldib  tesan  miuan  bruodber  soso  man  mit 
rebtu  sinan  bruodber  seal,  in  tbiu  tbaz  er  mig  so  sama  duo,  indi  mit 
Ludberen  in  nobbeiniu  tbing  ne  gegangu  tbe  minan  willon,  imo  se 
scaden  werdben. 

At  this   time  there  were  several   distinctly  marked 
dialects,  the  chief  of  which,  in  Germany,  were  the  High- 
German,  which  was  again  divided  into  Frankish  and 
Suabian,  and  the  Low-German,  or  Saxon,  from  Avhich 
1^- 


10  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

the  Flattdeutscli  of  to-day  is  descended.  The  separation 
of  both  the  Anglo-Saxon  and  the  Scandinavian  branches 
liad  commenced  befo]-e  the  time  of  Charlemagne,  and 
the  remains  of  their  early  literature  are  not  generally 
included  in  that  of  Germany.  The  fragment  of  the 
poem  of  Beowulf,  for  instance,  is  given  to  our  race  by 
the  German  scholars,  partly  for  j)hilological  reasons, 
and  partly  because  it  belongs  to  a  different  Sagenkreis^ 
or  legendary  cycle.  Had  the  heroic  ballads  of  the  sixth 
and  seventh  centuries  been  preserved,  we  might  perhaps 
have  been  able  to  mark  the  exact  point  from  which  each 
of  the  two  great  modern  languages  moved  in  different 
directions ;  but  we  can  only  say  that  the  earliest  literary 
remains,  which  are  specially  and  distinctly  German,  date 
from  after  the  separation. 

The  earliest  of  these  is  known  as  the  "Hildebrcmds- 
liecV — the  Song,  or  Lay  of  Hildebrand.  Only  a  small 
part  of  it  survives,  and  we  owe  its  existence  to  a  for- 
tunate chance.  It  aj)j)ears  that  two  monks  of  the 
monastery  of  Fulda,  who  had  jDerhaps  originally  been 
soldiers,  filled  uj)  two  or  three  blank  pages  of  a  theo- 
logical manuscript  by  writing  upon  them  what  they 
remembered  of  a  popular  heroic  poem.  The  manu- 
script is  as  old  as  the  middle  of  the  ninth  century,  and 
the  poem  was  probably  composed  between  750  and  800, 
or  nearly  at  the  same  time  as  the  oldest  Scandinavian 
Edda.  The  fragment  is  still  preserved  in  the  library  at 
Cassel.     It  is  written  in  the  Low-German  dialect,  but 


EARLIEST  GEnMA2{  LFFERATURE.  \\ 

witii  Higli-Germau  forms  of  construction,  and  is,  tliere- 
fore,  mncli  more  difficult  to  read  tlian  tlie  Oatli  of  Charles 
tlic  Bald.  Tlie  story  lias  a  remarkable  resemblance  to 
tliat  of  Solirab  and  Hustum,  told  by  the  Persian  poet 
Firtlusi  in  his  ^'  SlioJi  Kameh,"  and  retold  in  admirable 
English  verse  by  Matthew  Arnold.  Hildebrand,  one  of 
the  warriors  of  Theodoric  the  Goth,  has  been  thirty 
years  absent  with  his  master,  among  the  Huns,  and  now 
returns  with  him  to  his  own  kingdom.  Hildebrand  had 
there  left  behind  him  a  wife  and  a  young  son.  This 
son,  by  name  Hadubrand,  now  a  strong  warrior,  comes 
forth  with  his  men  to  meet  the  strangers,  and  chal- 
lenges his  father  to  combat.  Hildebrand  recognizes 
his  son,  tells  him  his  story,  and  offers  him  his  golden 
bracelets.  But  Hadubrand  answers  that  his  father  is 
dead,  that  sear-faring  men  brought  the  news  of  his 
death,  that  he  believes  Hildebrand  to  be  a  crafty  Hun, 
and  he  will  only  accept  the  bracelets  with  the  lance, 
sword  against  sword.  Hildebrand  finds  it  imjDossible 
to  decline  the  defiance ;  lances  are  cast,  swords  are 
drawn,  and  the  shields  of  both  are  hacked  in  j^ieces. 
Here  the  fragment  breaks  off;  but  the  Song  of  Hilde- 
brand, although  not  written,  seems  to  have  lived  orally 
among  the  j)eople,  and  seven  hundred  years  later  it 
was  sung  again  by  Kaspar  von  der  Koen.  The  end  is 
that  Hadubrand  is  overcome,  but  not  slain,  by  his  fa- 
ther, and  both  return  together  to  the  wife  and  mother. 
The  " HildehrandsUed"  is  written  in  a  rude  alliterative 


12  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

saga-measure, — that  original  form  of  verse  from  which 
our  rhymed  poetry  is  derived.  This,  iu  its  turn,  is  un- 
doubtedly the  later  modification  of  some  much  older 
form.  The  fact  that  classic  poetry  was  read  according 
to  quantity,  and  the  saga-measure  according  to  accent, 
shows  the  complete  independence  of  the  early  Gothic 
and  German  poetry  of  the  influence  of  the  Greek  and 
the  Eoman.  It  is  imj)ossible  to  guess  when  either  al- 
literation or  rhyme  originated ;  both  are  probably  as  old 
as  well-developed  human  language  ;  for  children  and 
savages  always  discover  them  and  play  with  them.  But 
the  fact  that  alliteration  aj^pears  equally  in  the  oldest 
German,  Anglo-Saxon  and  Scandinavian,  indicates  that 
it  must  have  been  inherited  by  each  equally  from  the 
Gothic ;  and  thus  it  is  perhaps  as  old  a  form  of  poetry 
as  the  Homeric  hexameter.  The  ancient  rule  required 
that  the  accent  not  only  fell  on  the  important  words, 
but  two  words  in  the  first  line,  and  one  in  the  second, 
must  commence  with  the  same  letter.  The  effect  is  that 
of  a  half-rhyme  at  the  commencement  and  middle  of  a 
line,  instead  of  a  whole  rhyme  at  the  end.  In  fact,  the 
early  Norsemen  and  Germans  called  this  measure  the 
Stahreim,  and  the  three  alliterative  words  LiedstlWe 
(song-sticlis),  or  bars,  upon  which  the  lines  rested,  very 
much  as  a  melody  is  sur)ported  by  bars,  in  music. 
This  is  the  derivation  of  our  word  stave,  which  we  still 
use  to  designate  the  verse  of  a  song.  To  make  the  ex- 
planation clearer,  I  will  quote  two  stanzas  in  the  saga- 


EARLIEST  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


13 


measure,  from  Lowell's  poem  of  "  The  Yojage  to  Yin- 
land  "  : 

"  Weak  was  tlie  Old  World, 
Wearily  war-fenced  ; 
Out  of  its  ashes, 
Strong  as  the  morning', 
Springeth  the  new. 
Beauty  of  promise. 
Promise  of  Beauty, 
Safe  in  the  silence 
Sleep  thou,  till  comelh 
Light  to  thy  lids  ! " 

As  we  find  tlie  first  written  basis  of  the  language  in 
the  Gothic  Gospels  of  Ulfilas,  so  we  find  the  first  sur- 
viving relic  of  a  native,  autochthonous  German  litera- 
ture in  the  Song  of  Hildebrand.  Let  us  now  examine 
what  is  left  of  it.  I  will  first  select  the  passage  where 
Hadubrand,  the  son,  speaks  to  Hildebrand,  the  father  : 


Hadubraht  gimahalta 

Ililtibrantes  sunu  : 

Dat  sagetun  mi 

usere  liuti  : 

alte  anti  f  rote, 

dea  er  hina  warun, 

dat  Hiltibrant  hretti  min  fater 

ih  hcittu  Hadubrant. 
Forn  her  oftar  giweit, 
floh  her  Otachres  nid, 
hina  miti  Theotrihhe 
cnti  sinero  degano  filu. 
Her  furlaet  in  lante 
luttila  sitten 
prut  in  bure, 
barn  unwahsan, 
arbeolaosa. " 


So  spake  Hadubrand, 

Son  of  Hildebrand  : 

Said  unto  me 

Some  of  our  people, 

Shrewd  and  old. 

Gone  hence  already. 

That  Hildebrand  was  my  fathel 

called, — 
I  am  called  Hadubrand. 
Erewhile  he  eastward  went. 
Escaping  from  Odoaker, 
Thither  with  Theodoric 
And  his  many  men  of  battle. 
Here  he  left  in  the  land. 
Lorn  and  lonely. 
Bride  in  bower. 
Bairn  ungrown, 
Havin":  no  heritage." 


14 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


I  think  we  cannot  help  feeling  both  the  simplicity, 
and  the  natural  dignity,  of  these  lines.  The  language  is 
the  plainest  possible ;  there  is  not  here,  nor  anywhere 
in  the  poem,  an  approach  to  metaphor ;  the  situation  is 
so  thoroughly  epic,  that  it  requires  no  poetical  adorn- 
ment. After  Hildebrand  throws  down  his  golden  brace- 
lets, and  Hadubrand  charges  him  with  being  a  tricky 
old  Hun,  the  latter  says  : 


Dat  sagetun  mi 

seolidante 

westar  ubar  wentilsaeo, 

dat  man  wic  fiirnam  : 

Tot  ist  Hiltibrant, 

Heribrantes  suno  ! " 


'  This  said  unto  me 
Sea-faring  men, 
From  over  Midland-sea, 
That  battle  took  him  : 
Dead  is  Hildebrand, 
Son  of  Heribrand  !  " 


Notice,  now,  how  the  poem  continues : 


Hiltibraht  gimahalta, 

Heribrantes  suno  : 

Wei  a  gisihu  ih 

in  dinem  hrustim 

dat  du  habes  heme 

herron  goten, 

dat  du  noh  bi  desemo  riche 

reccheo  ni  wurti." 


Spake  then  Hildebrand, 
Son  of  Heribrand  : 
"  Surely  see  I 
From  thine  armor, 
Hast  at  home  here 
King  that  is  kindly, 
Wast  not  yet  in  his  ranks 
Ranged  as  a  war-man." 


Then  he  continues,  in  a  strain  all  the  more  tragic 
from  its  bareness  : 


"  Welaga  nu,  waltant  got ! 

wewurt  skihit ! 
ih  wallota  sumaro 
enti  wintr6  sehstic, 
dar  man  mih  co  scerita 


Well  -  a  -  day   now,   governing 

God  ! 
Woe-worth  shall  happen  ! 
Summers  full  sixty, 
And  winters,  I  wander. 
Ever  called  with  the  crowd 


EARLIEST  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  15 

in  folc  sceotantero,  Of  shooters  of  spears  ; 

so  man  mir  at  bure  jenigeru  Nor  in  mine  own  stronghold 

banun  ni  gifasta.  Delayed,  as  the  dead. 

Nu  seal  mih  suasat  Now  shall  the  child  of  me 

chind  suertu  hauwan.  Smite  me  with  sword, 

breton  mit  sinu  billju.  Bite  me  with  broad  steel, 

eddo  ih  imo  ti  baniu  werdan."  Or  I  be  his  slayer." 


There  is  nothing  more  nobly  simple  and  natural  in 
Homer  than  this  last  passage.  Without  the  least  effort, 
by  the  commonest  means,  the  poem  here  rises  to  the 
highest  epic  and  tragic  grandeur.  The  last  lines  of 
the  fragment,  where  the  fight  commences,  are  not  less 
fine: 

Do  Isettun  se  cerist 
askini  scritan, 
scarpen  scurim, 
dat  in  dem  sciltim  stont. 

(Then  let  they  first  the  ash  stride  forth,  with  a  sharp  storming,  so 
that  it  stood  in  the  shields.) 

The  passages  I  have  given  amount  to  about  one- 
third  of  what  remains  of  the  original  poem. 

Some  scholars  consider  that  the  song  of  Hildebrand 
formed  part  of  the  collection  made  by  order  of  Charle- 
magne. This  is  merely  conjecture  ;  but  it  is  very  possi- 
ble that  the  lines  I  have  quoted  may  have  been  recited 
at  the  court  of  that  emperor. 

The  next  work  which  has  been  preserved  dates  from 
near  the  middle  of  the  ninth  century.  It  is  sometimes 
called  the  "  Old- Saxon  Gospel  Harmony"  and  sometimes 
the  "Heliand,''  an  ancient  form  of  the  modern  German 


IG  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

word  Heilancl,  tlie  Saviour.  There  seem  to  be  some 
grounds  for  the  tradition  that  it  was  written  by  a  Saxon 
peasant,  who  was  looked  upon  by  the  people  as  specially 
inspired  for  the  purpose,  during  the  reign  of  Ludwig 
the  Pious,  the  son  of  Charlemagne.  The  object  of  the 
writer  was  undoubtedly  to  make  the  life  and  works  of 
Christ,  as  related  in  the  Gosj)els,  known  to  the  common 
people  through  the  medium  of  their  own  language,  and 
the  alliterative  poetic  measure  in  which  they  had  chanted 
to  their  own  not  yet  forgotten  deities.  The  priests, 
therefore,  must  have  taken  pains  to  substitute  this 
Christian  poem  for  the  songs  and  ballads  of  the  heroes, 
as  a  means  of  securing  the  faith  of  those  tribes  who, 
like  the  Saxons,  had  been  converted  by  force.  The 
poem  is  a  remodelling  of  the  Gospel  narrative,  rather 
than  a  translation ;  in  style,  manner  and  language  it 
has  an  original  character,  and  the  figures  of  Christ  and 
His  disciples  receive  a  new  and  warm  and  impressive 
life  in  its  lines.  Yilmar  even  goes  so  far  as  to  say: 
"It  is  by  far  the  most  excellent,  complete  and  lofty 
work  which  the  Christian  poetry  of  all  races  and  all 
times  has  produced.  Apart  from  its  religious  sub- 
stance, it  is  one  of  the  noblest  poems  ever  created  by 
the  imaginative  human  mind,  and  in  some  passages  and 
descriptions  may  be  placed  beside  the  strains  of  Homer. 
It  is  the  only  really  Christian  epic."  Without  accept- 
ing such  an  extravagant  estimate,  I  am  at  least  quite 
ready  to  admit  that  it  contains  a  purer  and  more  at- 


EARLIEST  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  I7 

tractive  poetic  element  tlian  the  "  Messiah  "  of  Klop- 
stock,  or  the  religious  poetry  of  the  English  language. 

It  is  often  noticed,  by  readers  as  well  as  critics,  that 
what  is  called  religious  poetry  rarely  possesses  any 
striking  literary  value ;  and  the  same  may  be  said  of 
political  poetry.  There  is  here,  I  think,  simply  a  con- 
fusion of  terms.  If  we  substitute  the  adjectives  doc- 
trinal and  partisan  for  "religious"  and  "political,"  the 
cause  of  the  failure  is  evident.  Literature  lives  and 
flourishes  in  the  freest  atmosphere  of  spiritual  and 
political  aspiration,  but  it  begins  to  perish  when  the 
attempt  is  made  to  narrowly  define  and  limit  and  cir- 
cumscribe those  passions  of  the  human  soul.  The  old 
Saxon  "  Heliancr'  only  tells  the  story  of  Christ's  life. 
Its  writer  knew  the  people  he  was  addressing,  and  he 
chose  the  simplest  way  to  reach  their  imagination  and 
emotions.  The  Hebrew  air  which  seems  to  blow  from 
the  Old  Testament  over  the  New,  is  not  felt  in  his 
poem:  the  characters  and  situations,  no  less  than  the 
speech,  are  Saxon.  We  might  almost  fancy  that  Christ 
is  the  beautiful  god  of  the  Scandinavians,  the  white 
Balder,  in  a  more  perfect  form.  I  shall  quote  a  passage 
where  the  disciples  questioned  him  concerning  the  last 
day,  the  end  of  the  world :  you  will  notice  that  it  is  a 
paraphrase  of  the  24th  chapter  of  Matthew : 

Tho  gengun  imo  is  iungaron  to,  Then  went  His  disciples   Him 

unto, 
fragodon  iua  so  stillo  :  And  questioned  Him  secretly  : 


18 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


'Hus  lango    seal    stauden    noli," 

quandun  sie, 
'  tliius  wtrold  an  wunninn, 

er  than  that  giwand  kume, 

that  the  lasto  dag 

liohtes  skine 

thurh  wolkanskion  ? 

eftho  livan  is  eft  thin  wan  ku- 
man 

an  thenne  middilgard, 

mankunni 

te  adomienne 

dodun  eudi  quikun? 

Fro  min,  the  godo, 

lis  is  thes  firwit  mikil 

waldandeo  Krist, 

hvan  that  giwerden  sculi  ! " 

Tho  im  andwordl 

alowaldo  Krist 

godlic  fargaf, 

them  gumun  selbo. 
'That  habad   so  bidernid,"   quad 

he, 
'  himilrikies  fader, 

waldand  thesaro  weroldes, 

so  that  witen  ni  mag 

enig  maunisc  barn, 

hvan  thill  marie  tid 

giwirdid  an  thesaru  weroldi. 

Ne  il  ok  te  waran  ni  kunnun 

godes  engilos, 

thie  for  imo  geginwarde 

simlun  sindun. 

Sie  it  ok  giseggian  ni  mugun 

te  waran  mid  iro  wordun, 

hvan  that  giwerden  sculi, 
that  he  willie  an  thesan  middil- 
gard, 
mahtig  drohtin, 


"How  long    shall    stand    yet," 
quoth  they, 

"  This  world  so  winsome. 
Ere  then  the  end  come. 
And  the  last  day's  light 
Shine  through  the  closing 
Clouds  of  the  firmament  ? 
When  meanest  thou  to  come 

To  this  middle  mansion, 

Unto  mankind, 

To  judge  and  doom 

The  quick  and  dead? 

Lord  mine,  the  loving. 

Deep  our  desire  is, 

All-governing  Christ, 

To  know  when  it  cometh  ! " 

Answered  them  thereupon 

All-governing  Christ, 

Godlike  gave  to  them. 

Even  themselves,  the  men. 
"  So  hath  He  hidden  it,"  quoth 

he, 
■'Heaven's  high  Father, 

Ruling  the  earth-realm, 

So  that  know  it  may  none 

Of  the  children  of  men 

When  that  wonderful  day 

Dawns  on  the  world. 

Nor  also  verily  know  it 

God's  very  angels. 

Who  present  before  Him 

Perpetually  wait. 

Neither  dare  they  declare  it. 

With  truth   of  willing   word- 
speech. 

When  it  shall  come. 

That  He,  in  this  middle  man- 
sion. 

Living  Lord, 


EARLIEST  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


19 


firino  fandon. 

Fader  wet  it  eno, 

lielag  fan  himOe  ; 

elcur  is  il  bibolen  allun, 

qixikun  endi  dodun, 

hvan  il  kumi  werdad. 

Ik  mag  in  thoh  gitellien, 

livilic  er  tecan  bivoran 

giwerdad  wunderlic, 

er  he  an  these  werold  kume 

an  themu  mareon  daga. 

That  wirdid  er  an  the  no  manon 

skin, 
jac  an  theru  sunnun  so  same  : 
gisverkad  siu  bethiu, 

mit  finistre  werdad  bifangan  ; 

fallad  Kterron, 

hvit  hebentungal, 

endi  hrisid  erde, 

bivod  thins  brede  werold. 

Wirdid  sulikaro  bokno  filu  : 

grimmid  the  groto  seo, 

wirkid  thie  gebenes  strom 

egison  mit  is  udhiun 

erdbuandiun. 

than  thorrot  thiu  thiod 

thurh  that  gethving  mikil, 

folc  thurh  tliea  forhta  : 

than  nis  f  ridu  hvergin  ; 

ac  wirdid  wig  so  maneg 

obar  these  werold  alia 

hetili  afhaben  ; 

endi  heri  ledid 

kunni  obar  odar." 


Sin  shall  sentence, 
Knoweth  it  the  Father  only. 
Holy  One  from  heaven  ; 
Else  is  it  darkened  from  all, 
Both  the  quick  and  the  dead. 

Yet  will  I  truly  tell  you, 
Signs  to  be  seen  beforehand, 
Wondrous  to  witness, 
Or  ever  He  weighs  the  world 
On  the  famous  day  of  doom. 
The  moon  shall  make  it  mani- 

fest. 
Yea,  and  the  sun  the  same  : 
Clearness     of    them    shall    be 

clouded 
Deeply,  and  drenched  in  dark- 
ness : 
Fall  shall  the  star-fires. 
White  tongues  of  heaven. 
Earth  wof  ully  tremble. 
The  wide  world  shiver. 
Many  shall  be  such  marvels.: 
Grimly  shall  the  great  sea 
Koar  with  his  waves  in  wrath, 
And  the  deep  become  a  dx-ead 
To  the  Earth-dwellers. 
Pine  then  shall  the  people. 
Torn  by  the  tribulation, 
Multitudes  fall  in  their  fear ; 
For  peace  shall  perish, 
And  wars  so  murderous. 
Many  and  mighty. 
Waste  the  world." 


I  would  especially  call  attention,  in  this  passage,  to 
the  greater  brevity  and  strength  of  expression,  the  sim- 


20  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

pier  construction  of  the  language,  as  compared  with 
modern  German.  Gervinus,  however,  very  correctly  re- 
marks that  the  external  form  of  a  language  is  no  sure 
indication  of  the  genius  of  the  people  who  speak  it :  we 
must  measure  the  importance  of  the  thoughts  expressed. 
The  greatest  richness,  power  and  flexibility  avail  but 
little,  if  the  race  is  intellectually  impoverished,  or  if  its 
intellectual  growth  is  forcibly  suppressed.  While  we 
admire  this  wonderful  work  of  a  Saxon  j^easant — the 
literary  brother  of  Csedmon,  our  earliest  Anglo-Saxon 
singer,  after  Beowulf — we  must  remember  that  his  sub- 
ject, alone,  has  saved  his  poem.  Had  he  written  of  Theo- 
doric  or  Siegfried,  he  would  have  been  frowned  upon,  if 
not  silenced,  by  the  emperor  and  the  clergy.  Indeed,  the 
success  of  the  "  Heliand  "  led  to  the  production  of  a  rival 
poem,  by  Otfried,  a  Benedictine  monk,  who  possessed 
the  learning  of  the  monasteries  of  Fulda  and  St.  Gall, 
and  made  the  classic  authors  his  models,  although  he 
wrote  in  German.  In  the  dearth  of  literary  remains 
from  that  age,  his  work  is  interesting  and  valuable.  It 
shows  the  accomplished  scholar,  as  the  "  Heliand  "  shows 
the  unlettered,  but  genuine  poet.  Otfried's  poem  is 
written  in  High-German,  and  in  regular,  rhymed  stan- 
zas, so  that  it  marks  the  transition  from  the  ancient  to 
the  modern  form  of  poetry.  Bhyme  already  existed,  and 
it  is  also  nearly  certain  that  the  songs  of  the  people 
were  occasionally  divided  into  verses  of  equal  length, 
so  that  Otfried  is  entitled  to  no  merit  for  the  mere  form 


EARLIEST  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


21 


of  his  work.  He  manifests  both  skill  and  scholarship, 
but  he  is  cold,  mechanical  and  studied.  I  find  that 
his  lines,  although  nearer  German,  are  more  difficult  to 
read  than  those  of  the  "  Heliand."  I  will  quote  the  cor- 
responding passage,  where  the  disciples  question  Christ 
concerning  the  end  of  the  world,  to  show  the  difference 
between  the  two.  Otfried's  poem  was  finished  in  the 
year  868,  about  thirty  years  after  the  other. 


Er  saz  sid  themo  gauge 
in  themo  oliberge ; 
fragetun  sie  nan  suntar — 
sie  was  es  filu  wuntar  : 

"  Sage  uns,  meistar,  tlianne 
wio  tliixi  zit  gigange, 

zeichan  wio  tliu  queman  scalt, 

ioli  wio  thiu  worolt  ouh  zigat  1 " 

"Goumet,"    quad    er,     "tliero 

dato, 
ioh  weset  glawe,  thrato, 
thaz  iu  ni  daron  in  fara 
tliie  managon  luginara. 
"  Yrwehsit  iamarlichaz  thing 
ubar  thesan  worolt  ring, 
in  hungere  int  in  suhti 
in  wenegeru  fluhti ! " 


After  this  walk.  He  set 
Himself  on  Olivet ; 
Him  closely  did  they  question, 
Great  marvel   then   possessed 

them. 
"  Declare  us,  Master,  now, 
When    comes    the    time,    and 

how. 
What    signs    shalt    thou,    ere 

coming,  send. 
And  how  the  world  shall  find 

its  end?" 
"These  things  consider,"  said 

He; 
"  Be  prudent,  wise,  and  ready 
And  'gainst  the  danger  'ware  ye 
Of  liars  that  would  ensnare  ye. 
"  Great  misery  shall  be  hurled 
Over  all  the  ring  of  the  world, 
In  plague  and  hunger  breaking. 
In  flying  and  forsaking  ! " 


Here  I  omit  several  stanzas,  where  the  versions  do 
not  agree,  and  give  three  more  which  nearly  correspond 


in  language  with  the  "  Heliand  " : 


"  Duit  mano  ioh  thiu  sunna 
mit  finstere  unwunna. 


' '  The  sun  and  moon  shall  frown 
In  woe  of  darkness  down, 


22 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


ioh  fiillent  oiili  thie  sterron 

in  erda  filu  ferron. 

"  SihjWeinotthanne  thuruh  thia 

quist 
al  thaz  Mar  in  erdu  ist, 
tliuruli  thio  selbum  grunui 
al  tliiz  worolt  kunui. 
"  So  selient  se  mit  githuinge 
queman  thara  zi  thinge 
fon  wolkonon  lierasun 

then  selbon  mennisgen  sun  ! " 


And  fall  sliall  every  star 
On  earth,  both  near  and  far. 
' '  Behold  this  trouble  deep 

Shall  make  all  earth  to  weep  ; 
For  these  same  troubles  sent, 
All  sons  of  men  lament. 
"  They  with  amaze  unending. 
To  judgment  then  descending 
Shall  see,  through   the  cloudy 

span. 
The  self -same  Son  of  Man  !  " 


This  will  suffice  to  show  the  cIi£Ference  in  dialect  and 
character  between  the  two  poems.  It  is  a  curious  cir- 
cumstance that  both  the  Saxon  peasant  and  the  monk 
Otfried,  in  their  rival  Gospel  Harmonies,  studiously 
avoid  every  reference  to  Jewish  history  or  customs : 
they  even  omit  the  name  of  Jerusalem.  We  have  no 
means  of  ascertaining  the  relative  popularity  of  the  two 
poems  ;  but  this  must  have  partly  depended  on  the  dia- 
lect in  which  they  were  written.  Toward  the  end  of  the 
ninth  century,  short  hymns  and  religious  poems  of  a 
narrative  character  became  frequent.  Only  four  or 
five,  which  are  rather  doggrel  than  poetry,  have  come 
down  to  us. 

One  more  relic  of  the  earliest  German  literature,  and 
only  one,  remains  to  be  mentioned.  This  is  the  ^^Lud- 
ivigsUed,"  which  celebrates  the  victory  of  Ludwig  III. 
over  the  Normans,  at  Saulcourt,  in  the  year  881.  It 
was  written  by  Hucbald,  a  learned  monk,  soon  after  the 
battle,  and  the  original  manuscript,  in  Hucbald's  own 


EARLIEST  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  23 

hand,  is  still  in  existence.  It  was  discovered  at  Va- 
lenciennes in  France.  There  are  two  peculiarities 
about  this  song :  it  is  the  first  secular  work  in  German, 
by  a  clerical  author ;  and,  secondly,  it  is  not  a  Lied,  or 
song  wherein  the  chief  interest  belongs  to  the  words, 
the  musical  accompaniment  being  of  secondary  import- 
ance, but  a  Leich,  or  song  written  especially  for  music, 
wherein  the  melody  partly  determines  beforehand  what 
words  shall  be  used.  Thus  it  resembles  the  text  of  an 
opera  melody,  as  contrasted  with  the  Lieder,  or  with  the 
songs  of  Burns.  In  such  airs  as  casta  diva,  or  suoni  la 
tromha,  the  words  are  simply  a  carpet  thrown  down, 
over  which  the  music  walks  triumphant ;  but  when  the 
true  Volkslied,  or  song  of  the  people,  appears,  the  melody 
comes  to  it,  and  lives  with  it  as  a  loving  and  faithful 
handmaid. 

The  language  of  the  "Hildebrandslied''  and  the  "Lud- 
wigsUed  "  shows  the  contrast  between  the  natural  poetic 
speech,  and  that  which  springs  only  from  culture.  The 
former  is  as  simple  as  the  speech  of  a  child  ;  the  char- 
acters are  placed  before  us  without  explanation,  we 
hear  them  speak  and  see  them  act,  and  the  story  is 
told ;  but  the  monk  Hucbald's  song  of  victory  begins 
Avith  a  description  of  Ludwig  as  a  servant  of  God,  and 
especially  recommended  to  His  favor.  Trial  and  proba- 
tion are  sent  to  him  ;  malice,  falsehood,  and  treachery 
surround  him.  Then,  when  the  trouble  of  his  people 
from  the  invasion  of  the  Normans  becomes  great,  God 


24 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


speaks  to  liim  in  person,  commissioning  him  to  promise 
help  and  comfort,  and  assuring  him  of  victory  in  ad- 
vance. The  honest  okl  monk  does  not  see  that  Ludwig 
ceases  to  be  heroic  in  proportion  as  he  becomes  sancti- 
fied :  any  general  will  lead  his  troops  into  battle  when 
he  foreknows  his  own  success. 

I  will  quote  only  the  description  of  the  battle,  of 
which  we  have  but  twenty  lines,  part  of  the  manuscript 
being  lost.  This  is  the  most  spirited  and  picturesque 
portion  of  the  poem  : 


Tlio  nam  lier  skild  indi  sper, 

ellianlicho  reit  her, 
wold  er  war  erraliclion 
sina  widarsahclion. 

Tho  ni  was  iz  buro  lang, 
fand  her  thia  Northman  ; 
Gode  lob  sageda ; 
her  sihit,  thes  her  gereda. 

Ther  kuning  reit  kuono, 
sang  lioth  frono, 
joh  alle  saman  sungun  : 
Kyrrie  leison  ! " 

Sang  was  gisungan, 
wig  was  bigunnan  ; 
bliiot  skein  in  wangon, 
spilodun  ther  Vrankon. 

Thar  vaht  thegeno  gelih, 
nichein  so  so  Hludgwig ; 
snel  indi  kuoni, 

thaz  was  imo  gekunni. 

Suman  thuruh  skluog  her, 
suman  thuruh  stah  her  : 


Then     took    he    spear    and 
shield. 
Mightily  rode  to  xhe  field  ; 
Ready  he  was,  and  merry, 
To  test  his  adversary. 

Little  time  went  round 
Ere  he  the  Normans  found  : 
"God  be  praised  !  "  he  panted  : 
He  saw  what  he  wanted. 

The  king  rode  knightly  : 
He  sang  a  song  lightly. 
And  all  sang  together  : 
"  Kyrie  eleison!  " 

Ceased  the  song's  delighting. 
Begun  was  the  fighting  : 
Blood  in  cheeks  shone  clearly. 
Fought  the  Franks  so  cheerly, 

Ludwig,  hero-like, 
Struck  as  none  could  strike, 
With    speed,    and    force,   and 

spirit  : 
Such  did  he  inherit. 

One  he  battered  dead. 
Another  stabbed  and  sped. 


EARLIEST  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  25 

Here  the  description  breaks  off  suddenly,  and  tlie  re- 
mainder of  the  manuscript  is  a  thanksgiving  of  Ludwig 
and  his  Franks  after  the  battle. 

This  earliest  period  of  German  literature,  commencing 
with  the  first  traces  of  the  written  language,  covers  a 
space  of  about  eight  hundred  years.  The  scholars  are 
agreed  in  fixing,  as  the  period  of  its  termination,  the 
accession  of  the  Hohenstaufens  to  the  German  imperial 
throne,  in  1138.  But  from  the  production  of  the  "Liid- 
wigslied''  to  this  latter  date,  two  centuries  and  a  half 
intervene.  It  is  surprising  that  all  the  records  which 
remain  to  us  from  that  long  period  possess  scarcely  any 
literary  importance.  An  ap23arent  desert  separates  the 
old  from  the  mediaeval  realm.  Yet  the  whole  country, 
during  this  time  —  especially  under  the  reign  of  the 
Ottos  —  was  growing  in  industry,  in  civil  order,  in 
wealth,  security  and  intelligence.  We  shall  find,  in- 
deed, if  we  carefully  study  history,  that  there  was  a 
literature,  but  of  an  imitative,  artificial  character,  writ- 
ten in  Latin,  and  not  in  German.  Otto  I.,  who  began  to 
reign  in  936,  added  Italy  again  to  the  Empire,  after  a 
separation  of  nearly  a  hundred  years,  and  the  power  of 
the  Church  began  to  increase.  He  studied  the  classics, 
his  son.  Otto  11, ,  married  a  Grecian  princess,  with 
whom  Byzantine  art  and  architecture  came  to  Germany, 
and  Otto  III.  spoke  Greek  almost  as  well  as  German. 
Besides,  Arianism  had  been  suppressed,  the  last  ves- 
tiges of  the  old  Teutonic  faith  had  disappeared,  and  the 


26  OEUMAN  LITERATURE. 

priests,  released  from  the  labor  of  conversion,  could 
devote  much  of  their  time  to  other  than  theological 
studies.  Europe  was  covered  with  stately  and  Avealthy 
monasteries,  and  some  of  them — as  St.  Gaul,  Fulda, 
Corvey,  and  Hildesheim — became  famous  seats  of 
learning.  In  addition  to  the  legends  of  saints,  and  the 
chronicles  of  the  Church,  which  were  now  written  in 
great  numbers,  the  picturesque  episodes  of  early  Ger- 
man history  were  taken  up,  and  made  the  subject  of 
Latin  epics,  some  of  which  still  exist,  either  complete 
or  in  fragments.  I  do  not  consider,  however,  that  these 
works  properly  belong  to  German  literature ;  their  in- 
terest is  simply  historical. 

It  is  reasonable  to  suppose,  nevertheless,  that  the  taste 
of  the  people  for  those  earlier  stores  of  poetry  from 
which  the  "  Niehelungenlied  "  and  '^Reynard  the  Fox  "  were 
afterwards  created,  was  not  suppressed,  although  their 
continued  production  was  discouraged  in  every  way. 
But,  during  these  two  hundred  and  fifty  years,  the  peo- 
ple were  passing  through  that  change  of  habits  and 
relations  to  one  another  which  followed  their  change 
of  faith.  It  was  a  period  of  ferment  and  transition,  but 
of  a  material  rather  than  an  intellectual  character,  until 
the  close  of  the  eleventh  century  when  the  Crusades 
commenced.  The  native  German  element  of  poetry  lay 
dormant,  but  it  was  not  dead.  Vilmar  very  justly  says  : 
"  Even  as  the  strength  and  activity  of  the  soul  is  not 
extinguished  in  sleep,  so  we  dare  not  affirm  this  of  the 


EARLIEST  GERMAN  LITERATURE.  27 

German  people  during  tlie,  almost  dumb  and  barren 
tenth,  eleventh,  and  first  half  of  the  twelfth,  centuries. 
As  in  dreams  were  preserved,  as  in  the  faltering,  half- 
conscious  speech  of  dreams  were  sung,  the  old  heroic 
ballads  of  Siegfried  and  Theodoric,  of  Chrimhild  and 
Hagen,  of  Walther  and  Attila." 

I  have  given  no  specimens  of  the  prose  literature  of 
Germany  during  the  eight  centuries  which  I  have  briefly 
reviewed,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there  is  none. 
Nearly  all  chronicles  or  documents  were  written  in 
Latin,  and  the  German  author,  of  course,  preferred  to 
use  a  language  which  his  fellow-authors  throughout 
Europe  could  read  without  translation.  Besides,  in 
the  civilization  of  the  races,  poetry  is  the  first  form  of 
literature,  as  sculpture  is  the  first  form  of  art.  Men 
demand  in  the  beginning,  not  ideas  nor  illusive  copies  of 
realities,  but  a  shaj^e,  palpable  to  the  eye  or  the  ear,  and 
thus  the  most  perfect  art  is  the  earliest  born.  Indeed, 
we  might  say,  that  the  primitive  poetry  of  Germany, 
wdth  its  rude,  short,  strong  lines,  falling  like  the  blows 
of  a  hammer,  and  dinting  the  memory  with  their  allite- 
rative words,  helped  to  make  the  popular  mind  ductile, 
and  softer  for  the  reception  of  ideas.  The  literature  of 
Greece,  France,  Scandinavia  and  England  was  equally 
built  on  a  basis  of  poetry. 

As  I  said  in  the  commencement,  it  is  difincult  to  de- 
scribe the  intellectual  growth  of  a  race  during  those 
remote   ages,   without  the  illustration  of  its    history. 


28  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Yet  we  have  the  relationship  of  blood  and  character  to 
assist  us,  and  I  rely  somewhat  on  those  intellectual 
instincts  which  have  come  down  to  us  from  the  Goths 
and  Saxons,  to  fill  up  some  of  my  own  omissions.  To  me, 
the  lines  of  the  "Heliand  "  and  "Hildebrandslied  " — even 
the  Gothic  words  of  Ulfilas — have  something  familiar 
and  home-like  about  them.  Without  making  any  spe- 
cial study  of  the  language,  the  meaning  gradually  comes 
of  itself,  like  something  which  has  been  once  learned 
and  then  forgotten.  In  the  age  of  the  Minnesingers 
and  the  courtly  epics,  to  which  we  now  turn,  we  shall 
find  fancy  and  feeling  and  elegant  versification,  but 
nothing  more  artlessly  simple,  more  vigorous  or  noble, 
than  the  songs  of  the  earliest  days. 


n. 

THE  MINNESINGERS. 

In  spite  of  Buckle  and  the  other  writers  of  his  school, 
all  the  phenomena  of  human  civilization  cannot  yet  be 
so  arranged  and  classified  that  we  are  able  to  find  their 
inevitable  causes.  Wealth  may  follow  commerce,  in- 
dustry and  order  may  follow  peace  and  just  government ; 
but  the  literature  and  the  art  of  a  people  arise  through  a 
combination  of  influences,  which  we  cannot  always  trace 
to  their  sources.  But  we  may  at  least  discover  the  cir- 
cumstances and  conditions  which  encourage  or  depress 
their  growth.  When  a  period  of  creative  activity  has 
commenced,  we  can  then  partly  account  for  its  character. 
In  other  words,  no  one  can  explain  how  that  mysterious 
quality  which  we  call  genius  is  planted  in  the  spirit  of 
man;  but,  after  it  has  been  so  planted,  and  begins  to 
select  the  material  for  its  work,  its  operation  is  modi- 
fied according  to  general  intellectual  laws,  the  effect  of 
which  upon  it  may  be  studied. 

There  are  three  circumstances  in  the  history  of  Ger- 
many, which  did  not  produce  the  famous  company  of 
authors  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  but 
which  greatly  favored  their  productiveness,  and  wonder- 

29 


30  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

fully  helped  the  literary  development  of  the  entire  Ger- 
man people.  These  circumstances  are  in  chronological 
order — first,  the  Crusades ;  second,  the  accession  of  the 
Hohenstaufens  to  the  imperial  throne ;  and  third,  the 
rise  of  Provencal  literature,  the  first  native  groAvth  from 
any  of  the  Romanic  languages.  These  were  contempo- 
rary events ;  for,  although  the  first  crusaders  captured 
Jerusalem  in  1099,  the  Emperor  Conrad  III.,  the  first 
Hohenstaufen,  was  crowned  in  1138,  and  took  part  in 
the  second  crusade  in  1147.  After  the  recapture  of 
Jerusalem  by  Saladin  in  1187,  Barbarossa  led  the  third 
crusade  in  1189 — the  same  in  which  Philip  Augustus  of 
France  and  Richard  the  Lion-heart  were  commanders. 
Finally,  Frederick  11. ,  the  Hohenstaufen,  and  the  great- 
est German  emperor  since  Charlemagne,  undertook  the 
fifth  crusade  in  1228.  The  Hohenstaufen  line  ceased 
with  the  death  of  Conrad  II.  in  1254. 

Now,  if  we  turn  to  Provencal  history,  we  shall  find 
that  the  poetry  of  the  Troubadours  was  developed 
from  the  rude  popular  song  and  ballad  into  that  ele- 
gance and  melodious  form  which  made  it  the  courtly 
minstrelsy  of  France  and  Italy,  between  the  years  1090 
and  1140,  and  that  its  period  of  achievement  lasted 
until  the  year  1250,  so  that  the  golden  era  of  Provencal 
literature  exactly  corresponded  with  the  reign  of  the 
Hohenstaufen  line.  Rudel,  whose  romantic  love  for  the 
Princess  of  Tripoli  has  inspired  so  many  later  ballads, 
was  a  contemporary  of  Diethmar  von  Aist,  one  of  the 


THE  MINNESINGERS.  31 

first  Minnesingers ;  and  Bertrand  de  Born,  in  wliose 
lines  we  hear  the  blast  of  the  trumpet  and  the  clash 
of  swords,  was  a  contemporary  of  Walther  von  der  Vo- 
gelweide,  who  sang  of  birds  and  the  blossoms  of  May. 
Some  of  the  German  scholars  deny  that  the  trouba- 
dours contributed  toward  the  revival  of  poetry  by  the 
Minnesingers,  for  the  reason  that  the  former  sang  of 
battles  and  heroic  deeds,  while  the  latter  sang  of  love 
and  sorrow  and  the  influence  of  Nature.  This  distinc- 
tion is  correctly  drawn :  the  Minnesingers  were  not 
imitators,  but  nevertheless  they  did  owe  their  immediate 
popularity  in  Germany,  and  the  encouragement  accorded 
to  them  by  the  ruling  princes,  to  the  fashion  which  was 
first  set  by  the  Courts  of  Aix,  Toulouse  and  Arragon. 
In  fact,  William,  Count  of  Poitiers,  was  one  of  the  earli- 
est troubadours,  and  three  kings  of  Arragon  are  named 
in  the  list  of  minstrels.  Then,  as  in  Schiller's  poem, 
"The  Might  of  Song,"  the  poet  sat  beside  the  monarch, 
if  he  did  not  happen  to  be  a  monarch  himself. 

Turning  to  the  history  of  the  house  of  Hohenstaufen, 
we  find  that  although  six  emperors  of  that  house 
reigned  from  1138  to  1254,  a  period  of  one  hundred 
and  sixteen  years,  the  character  and  importance  of  the 
Hohenstaufen  rule  is  due  to  two  men,  Frederick  Bar- 
barossa,  who  reigned  thirty-eight  years,  and  his  grand- 
son, Frederick  IL,  who  reigned  thirty-six  years.  Both 
of  them  were  men  of  culture  and  refined  literary  taste, 
and  Frederick  IL  himself  wrote  poems  in  the  Arabic 


32  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

and  Provencal  languages.  Ev&n  the  boy  Conraclin,  tlie 
last  of  the  line,  who  was  executed  bj  Charles  of  Anjou 
in  1268,  left  two  German  poems  behind  him.  Both 
Barbarossa  and  Frederick  II.  distinguished  themselves 
by  a  bold  and  determined  resistance  to  the  growing 
power  of  the  Popes.  They  were  both  called  "  heretics" 
by  the  clergy ;  Frederick  II.  was  excommunicated,  his 
sudden  death  was  attributed  to  poison,  and  it  was  the 
influence  of  Pome  which  exterminated  his  race  within 
twenty  years  after  his  death ;  yet,  during  the  century 
of  the  Hohenstaufens,  Germany  was  comparatively  free 
from  the  nightmare  of  priestly  rule.  Barbarossa  be- 
came the  symbol  of  national  sentiment  and  national 
unity  among  the  j)eople  :  Frederick  II.  laid  the  founda- 
tion for  that  middle  class,  between  the  nobles  and  the 
peasants,  which  is  the  present  strength  of  every  nation 
of"  Europe ;  and  he  began  unconsciously  to  prepare 
the  way  for  Luther,  three  hundred  years  before  the 
Reformer's  birth.  They  were  great  political  architects, 
who  builded  broader  and  stronger  than  they  knew. 
From  the  Rhone  to  Mount  Tabor  and  the  Sea  of  Gali- 
lee, from  the  Baltic  to  the  gardens  of  Sicily,  their 
lives  were  battles  and  marches ;  they  sat  on  portable 
thrones,  and  their  palaces  were  tents. 

Although  Europe  paid  five  million  lives  for  a  ninety 
years'  occupation  of  Jerusalem,  and  a  two  hundred 
years'  possession  of  the  coast  of  Palestine,  her  real 
gain  was  worth  the  sacrifice.     The  nations  drew  new 


THE  MINNESINGERS.  33 

virtues  and  new  graces  of  character  from  the  Crusades. 
Their  people  came  out  of  seclusion  into  a  grand  con- 
tinental society ;  all  minor  interests  were  lost  in  the 
two  great  inspirations — war  and  religion ;  narrow  preju- 
dices were  swept  away,  ignorance  corrected,  knowl- 
edge exchanged,  and  Christian  courtesy  began  to  take 
the  place  of  barbaric  manners.  When,  in  some  Phry- 
gian forest,  or  some  valley  of  Taurus  or  Lebanon,  the 
Provencal  sat  beside  the  Saxon,  the  Norman  beside  the 
Suabian,  and  the  lively  strains  of  the  jongleur  alter- 
nated with  some  grave  old  Teutonic  ballad  in  the  saga- 
measure,  there  was  already  that  stimulus  of  emulation 
which  is  the  first  condition  of  literary  growth.  The 
three  influences  which  I  have  mentioned  were  blended 
together  in  their  operation  on .  the  German  people — 
the  education  of  the  Crusades,  the  courtly  fashion  of 
song,  with  the  elegant  Provencal  models,  and  finally 
the  intelligence  and  taste  of  the  rulers,  combined  with 
their  defiance  of  the  authority  of  Kome. 

In  regard  to  this  latter  point,  I  must  add  a  word  of 
explanation.  I  should  not  venture  to  say  that  the 
intellectual  development  of  an  individual  or  a  race  is 
very  seriously  affected  by  the  character  of  his  or  its 
religious  faith.  Barbarossa,  Frederick  II.,  Walther 
von  der  Vogelweide,  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,  were 
Catholics,  as  were  Dante  and  Tasso.  But  I  do  assert, 
with  the  positiveness  of  profoundest  belief,  that  no 
other  agency  in  the  history  of  man  has  so  injuriously 
2- 


34  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

interfered  with  liis  growtli  in  knowledge  as  tlie  ec- 
clesiastical power  of  any  faitli  wliicli  seeks  to  bring 
under  its  exclusive  control  and  government  all  forms 
of  intellectual  growth.  In  this  country,  where  we  have 
never  had,  and  never  can  have,  a  union  of  Church  and 
State,  it  is  difficult  for  us  to  understand  the  spiritual 
tyranny  which  any  form  of  religious  belief  will  always 
assume  when  it  has  the  power.  The  Church  of  Eome, 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  was  despotic,  because  all  civilized 
Christendom  belonged  to  it;  but  any  earlier  or  later 
variety  of  faith  would,  under  the  same  circumstances, 
have  assumed  the  same  character.  Tolerance  is  always 
an  acquired,  not  a  natural  virtue.  In  the  development 
of  German  Literature,  the  religious  element  every  now 
and  then  asserts  itself,  and  must  be  mentioned.  I 
wish,  therefore,  to  treat  it"  simply  as  an  inevitable  fact, 
without  prejudice  or  partisan  views. 

For  two  hundred  and  fifty  years,  as  we  have  seen, 
the  creative  spirit  of  literature  in  Germany  had  been 
sunk  in  a  sleep  like  death ;  but  it  now  began  to  re- 
vive. It  meets  us,  at  the  start,  in  a  new  character, 
and  is  the  expression  of  a  new  spirit.  The  stages  of 
transition  between  the  " Hildehrcmdslied,"  the  "Heliand," 
the  rhymed  couplets  of  Otfried  and  Hucbald  and  the 
smooth,  elaborate  stanzas  of  the  Minnesingers,  have 
been  lost.  The  new  race  of  minstrels  began  by  bor- 
rowing form  and  melody  from  the  troubadours ;  but 
this  was  all  they  borrowed.     They  belonged  to  an  im- 


THE  MmNESINGERS.  35 

pressible,  emotional  race,  in  wliom  tlie  elements  of  song 
always  existed,  and  in  wliom  the  joy  of  expressing  and 
communicating  fancy  and  feeling  to  others  was  always 
strong.  Their  language  liad  so  changed  in  the  mean- 
time that  it  is  now  called  the  Mediaeval  High-German 
by  scholars,  to  distinguish  it  from  the  Old  High-Ger- 
man of  Charlemagne's  time.  The  first  attempts  at 
Ij-rical  poetry,  in  the  twelfth  century,  show  the  stiff 
joints  of  a  speech  which  is  not  accustomed  to  trip  in 
musical  measures  ;  but  it  very  soon  became  flexible  and 
warm,  and  learned  to  follow  the  moods  of  its  masters. 

The  age  that  now  commences  was  especially  one  of 
epic  poetry,  and  quite  as  remarkable  in  this  respect  as 
was  the  age  of  Elizabeth  for  English  dramatic  poetry. 
The  Minnesingers  did  not  precede  the  epic  poets,  but 
were  contemporaneous  with  them,  and  both  of  the  titles 
may  be  applied  with  equal  justice  to  several  famous 
authors.  I  take  the  lighter  strains  first,  because  they 
spring  more  directly  from  the  character  of  the  age,  and 
are  a  part  of  that  minstrelsy  which  you  will  meet  in 
English  history,  in  the  persons  of  Taillefer  and  Blondel 
and  Richard  of  the  Lion-Heart.  In  fact,  the  song  of 
love  or  sorrow  was  as  common  throughout  Europe  as  the 
red-cross  on  the  left  shoulder  of  the  Crusader.  These 
songs  were  remembered  and  sung  by  thousands  who 
were  unable  to  hear  or  recite  the  epic  poems,  and  thus 
the  people  were  taught  to  enjoy  brief  lyrics  of  action  or 
feeling.     The  lyrical  poetry  of  every  modern  language 


36 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


grew  from  tliis  basis,  and  our  cliief  wonder,  in  contrast- 
ing the  lays  of  tlie  troubadours  Avitli  those  of  this  day, 
must  be  that  the  imj)roYement,  so  far  as  concerns  the 
graces  of  rhythmical  form,  has  been  so  slight  between 
that  time  and  this. 

We  have  the  names  and  many  of  tlie  poems  of  a  large 
number  of  the  Minnesingers — quite  as  many,  indeed,  as 
is  necessary ;  but  our  knowledge  of  the  authors  is  gene- 
rally defective,  and  an  exact  chronological  arrangement 
of  them  cannot  be  made.  One  of  the  earliest  is  Dietli- 
mar  von  Aist,  and  I  quote  his  little  song  of  the  "  Falcon," 
because  its  subject  is  simple  and  unaffected,  while  the 
language  shows  that  rhyme  is  still  an  unaccustomed 
restraint. 


Ez  stuont  ein  vrouwe  aleine 
unt  warte  uber  lieide, 
unt  warte  ilir  liebes, 
s6  gesacli  sie  valken  vliegen. 
So  wol  dir,  valke,  daz  du  List ! 
Du  vliugest,  swar  dir  lieb  ist ; 
du  erkiusest  dir  in  dem  walde 
einen  bourn,  der  dir  gevalle. 
Also  lian  oucli  ill  getan  : 
ih  erkos  mir  selben  einen  man 
den  erwehlten  miniu  ougen  ; 
daz  nideut  sclione  vrouwen. 
0  we,  wan  lant  si  mir  rain  liep  ? 

jo  engerte  icb  ir  dekeines  trutes 

niet !" 
So  wol  dir,  sumerwunne  ! 
Daz  gevogel  sane  ist  gesunde, 
alse  ist  der  linden  ir  loup. 


There  stood  alone  a  lady 
And  waited  on  tlie  moorland, 
And  waited  for  her  lover. 
And  saw  the  falcon  flying. 
"  Ah,  happy  falcon  that  thou  art  1 
Thou  fliest  where  thou  pleasest; 
Thou  choosest  from  the  forest 
The  tree  which  best  thou  lovest. 
And  tlius  have  I  done  also  : 
I  chose  a  man  to  be  mine  own. 
In  mine  eyes  the  one  elected, 
And  envied  am  by  fairest  dames. 
Alas,  why  will  they  not  leave 

my  love? 
For  none  of  theirs  I  ever  han- 
kered." 
Fair  art  thou,  joy  of  summer  ! 
The  song  of  birds  is  wholesome 
As  are  its  leaves  unto  the  linden. 


THE  MI^fJ^ESINGEBS.  37 

I  must  ]3ass  over  many  names — Frieclricli  von  Hauseu, 
tlie  brave  knight  wlio  fell  in  Asia  Minor,  Heinrich  von 
Veldeck,  Hartmann  von  Aue,  and  other  noble  minstrels 
■ — only  pausing  to  quote  this  one  verse  of  Heinrich  von 
Morungen : 

Ez  ist  site  der  nalitegal,  'Tis  the  way  of  tlie  uiglitiu- 

gale, 

swan  si  ir  liet  volendet,  so  ge-  That  when  her  song  is  finished 

swiget  sie  ;  she  slugs  no  more  ; 

Dur  daz  volge  ah  ich  der  swal,  But  the  swallow  as  mate  I  haU, 

diu  duich  liebe,  nocli  durch  leide  Who  neither  for  love  nor  woe, 

ir  singen  uie  verlie.  ceases  her  strain  to  pour. 

Reimar  the  Old.  is  another  who  tempts  me  with  the 
increasing  sweetness  of  his  lines  ;  but  I  must  also  pass 
him  by  to  reach  the  fairest  and  most  attractive  name 
among  the  Minnesingers — Walther  von  der  Vogelweide. 
Where  or  when  he  was  born,  we  do  not  know  :  his  youth 
was  spent  in  Austria,  at  the  court  of  Duke  Frederick. 
At  the  close  of  the  twelfth  century  we  find  him  with 
Philip  of  Hohenstaufen,  then  with  Otto  of  Wittelsbach, 
defying  Pope  Innocent  III.  in  bold  verses,  when  the 
Pope  excommunicated  the  Emperor ;  and,  finally,  fol- 
lowing Frederick  II.  to  Palestine,  scourging  priests  and 
monks  with  his  satire,  openly  scoffing  at  the  claims  of 
the  Papal  power,  and,  as  a  writer  of  his  time  charges, 
"turning  thousands  from  their  duty  to  Fiome."  He  was 
ennobled  by  Frederick  II.  and  presented  with  an  estate 
near  Wiirzburg.  He  was  buried  in  the  cathedral  of  that 
city,  leaving  a  sum  of  money  to  the  monastery  to  buy  corn 


38  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

for  the  birds  wliicli  "wore  fed  out  of  four  liollow  spaces 
cut  in  tlie  top-slal3  of  his  tombstone.  His  will  was  car- 
ried out  for  several  hundred  years,  and  the  tombstone, 
with  the  hollows  for  the  Vogeliveide,  still  exists. 

In  his  youth,  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  was  poor. 
He  began  life  as  a  jongleur,  a  traveling  minstrel,  riding 
from  castle  to  castle,  and  singing  his  songs  to  lords  and 
ladies,  to  the  accomj)animent  of  his  violin.  Even  after 
he  reached  the  life  of  courts  and  became  the  minstrel 
of  emperors,  his  circumstances  do  not  seem  to  have  im- 
j^roved.  Some  touching  verses  still  exist,  wherein  he 
begs  Frederick  II.  to  grant  him  a  home  which  he  may 
call  his  own.  "Have  pity,"  he  says,  "that  I  am  left  so 
poor,  with  all  my  rich  art.  If  I  could  once  warm  my- 
self at  my  own  hearth,  how  would  I  then  sing  of  the 
birds  and  of  flowers  and  of  love !  "  He  adds  that  he  is 
tired  of  the  title  of  "  guest" — if  he  can  only  be  "host," 
instead  of  "guest,"  he  will  ask  no  more.  It  is  pleasant 
to  know  that  Frederick  was  moved  by  this  appeal,  and 
gave  the  weary  old  poet  a  home. 

In  "Walther's  songs,  Ave  find  the  nature  of  the  born 
poet  enforcing  its  own  expression.  The  imperfect  Ger- 
man of  his  day  becomes  fluent  and  musical  in  his  verses; 
but  the  truer  test  of  his  quality  is  that  we  soon  cease  to 
think  of  the  language,  quaint  and  strange  as  it  appears, 
and  are  brought  face  to  face,  and  heart  to  heart,  with 
the  minstrel  himself.  More  than  any  other  poet  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  he  seems  to  us  modern  in  feeling  and  in 


THE  MINNE8INGER8. 


39 


style.  He  was  oue  of  the  very  first,  not  merely  to  de- 
scribe Nature  and  rural  life,  but  to  express  a  sweet  and 
artless  delight  in  her  manifold  aspects.  After  him, 
Chaucer,  then  Shakesj^eare,  with  a  long  interval  between, 
Cowper  and  Wordsworth,  and,  among  us,  Longfellow, 
Bryant  and  Whittier,  have  chanted  the  beauty  of  the 
external  world ;  but,  with  all  their  higher  graces  of  art, 
none  of  them  can  so  immediately  set  us  in  the  midst  of 
May-time,  blossoms  and  bird-songs,  by  a  simple,  child- 
like line,  as  Walther  von  der  Yogelweide. 

Here  is  a  little  song  of  his,  called  "dlaiemconne^'  (the 
Bliss  of  May) : 


Muget   ir    scliouwen,  waz  dem 
meien 
wunders  ist  beschert  ? 

Selit  an,  pfaffen,  selit  an,  leien, 

wie  daz  allez  vert ! 

Groz  ist  sin  gewalt  ; 
ine  weiz,  ob  er  zoiiber  kiinne  : 
swar  er  vert  mit  siuer  wiinne, 

dan  is  niemen  alt. 


Would  you   see  liow   May  to 
May-men 
Bringeth  marvels  new  ; 
Priests,  behold  ! — behold  it  lay- 
men. 
What  his  might  can  do  ! 
He  is  uncontrolled  : 
I  know  not  if  magic  is  it  ; 
When  his  joys  the  world  re- 
visit. 
Then  is  no  one  old. 


Wol  dir,  meie,  wie  du  scheidest 
allez  ane  haz  ! 

Wie  wol  du  die  bourne  kleidest 
uud  die  heide  baz  ! 

Diu  hat  varwe  me. 
"  Du  bistkurzer,  ich  bin  langer  I" 

also  striteuts  uf  dem  anger 

bluomen  uude  klu. 


Happy  May,  thy  spell  divideth 

All,  but  not  in  hate  ! 
Every  tree  in  leafage  hideth, 
Nor  the  moorlands  wait. 
Colors  fall  in  showers  : 
'  I  am  long  and  thou  art  short," 
Thus  in  fields  they  strive  and 
sport. 
Clover,  grass  and  flowers. 


40 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Roter  mund,  wie  clu  dicli  swa- 
cliest  ! 
La  diu  lacheu  sin  ! 

Sham  dicb.,  daz  du  micli  an  la- 
cliest 
nach.  dem  scliaden  min, 

1st  daz  wol  getan  ? 
Owe  so  verlorner  stunde  ! 

So]  von  minneclichem  munde 

solcli  unminne  ergan  1 


Rosy  mouth,  why  thus  degrade 
thee. 
Let  thy  laughter  be  ! 
Shame  of  scorn  shall  not  evade 
thee, 
After  wounding  me. 
Doest  thou  kindly  so  ? 
Ah,  lost  hours  that  we  are  prov- 
ing, 
When    from  lips  that  seem  so 
loving 
Such  unlove  should  flow  ! 


Altliougli  this  song  lias  tlie  character  of  a  Leich,  in 
suggesting  music,  the  language  is  nowhere  bent  to 
adapt  itself  to  the  rhythm.  Form  and  substance  melo- 
diously embrace  each  other  :  the  stanza  shows  that  the 
author  has  carefully  studied  rhythmical  effect,  yet  his 
feeling  fills  it  so  evenly  that  the  measure  seems  as  un- 
studied as  the  song  of  a  bird.  The  alliteration  of  the 
saga  is  also  retained,  but  so  skillfully,  so  delicately  sub- 
ordinate to  the  expression  of  joy  in  the  May-time,  that 
we  do  not  immediately  perceive  it. 

Here  is  another  minne-song,  remarkable  for  being 
written  in  the  dactylic  measure  : 


W61  mich  der  stunde,  daz  Ich      Happy  the  moment  when   first 


sie  erkande, 
diu  mir  den  lip  und  den  muot 

hat  hetwungen, 
sit  deich  die  sinne  so  gar  an  sie 

wande, 
der  si  mich   hat    mit  ir  gllete 

verdrungen  ! 


I  beheld  her. 
Conquering  body  and  soul  with 
her  beauty  ; 
Since  when  my  service  the  more 
hath  compelled  her 
Still  with  her  kindness  to  fet- 
ter my  duty. 


THE  MINNESINGERS. 


41 


daz  icli  gesclieiden  von  ir  nilit 

enkan, 
daz  hat  ir  sclioene  uud  ir  gilette 

gemaclaet 
und  ir  roter  mund,  der  so  liep- 

liclieu  lacliet. 


So  that  from  her  I  can  never 

more  part. 
This    from    her    goodness    and 

grace,  and  thereafter 
Her    roseate    mouth,    with   the 

charm  of  its  laughter. 


Ich    han   den   muot  und  die 
sinne  geweudet 
an  die  vil  reinen,  die  lieben,  die 
guoten  : 
daz  miiez'  uns  beiden  wol  wer- 
den  volendet 
swes  ich  getar  an  ir  hulde  ge- 
muoten. 
swaz  ich  ie  freuden  zer  werlde 
gewan, 
daz  hat  ir  schoene  und  ir  giiete 

gemachet 
und   ir  roter  muut,  der  so  liep- 
lichen  lachet. 


Spirit   and    senses  and  thought 
I  have  given 
Unto  the  best  and  the  purest 
and  dearest  ; 
Now  must  the  bliss  be  complete, 
as  in  heaven, 
Since  I  have  dared  to  desire 

to  be  nearest. 
If    the  world's    blisses   were 
dear  to  my  heart, 
'Twas    from  her  goodness   and 

grace,  and  thereafter 
Her    roseate    mouth,    with    the 
charm  of  its  lauo:hter. 


I  find  in  these  little  madrigals  of  Waltlier  von  der 
Vogelweide,  tlie  same  grace  and  sweetness  and  willful 
play  of  fancy,  as  in  those  of  Herrick  and  Carew.  His 
sentiment  for  women  is  of  the  most  refined  and  knightly 
character ;  and  it  is  remarkable  how  the  fine  enthusi- 
asm of  his  nature  breaks  out  as  fresh  and  ardent  as 
ever,  whenever  he  mentions  love  or  the  s^Dring-time. 
Before  turning  to  his  didactic  and  satirical  strains,  I 
must  quote  three  more  stanzas,  in  illustration  of  this 
delightful  quality.  The  first  is  from  his  poem  of  "  The 
Glorious  Dame  " — "  Die  IlerrUcJie  Fran" 


42 


GERMAN  LITERATUUE. 


Got  hate  ir  wengel  boh  en  fliz  : 
er  streicli  so  tiure  varwe  dar, 

so  rciue  rot,  s6  reine  wiz, 

hie  roeseloht,  cTort  liljeuvar. 
Ob  icb'z  vor  silnden  tar  gesa- 
gen, 
so  saehe  ich  s'iemer  gerner  an 

dan  birael  oder  himelwagen. 
Owe  waz  lobe  ich  tumber  man  ? 
mach'  ich  sie  niir  ze  her, 
vil  lihte  wirt  mins  niundes  lop 
mins  herzen  ser. 


God  was  socarpfnl  of  her  cheeks; 
He  spread  such  precious  colors 

there, 
That  pure  and  perfect,    eithef 

speaks. 
Here  rosy-red,  there  lily-fair. 
Not  meaning  sin,  will  I  declare 

That  I  more  fain  on  her  would 
gaze 

Than  on  the  sky  or  Starry  Bear. 

Ah,  foolish  me,  what  is't  I  praise  ? 

If  I,  too  fond,  exalt  her  so, 

How  soon  the  lip's  delight  be- 
comes the  bosom's  woe. 


Now  take  the  opening  stanzas  of  his  song — "  Spring 
and  Women,"  which  I  quote  on  account  of  its  brigjit, 
sunny  character  : 


When   the   blossoms   from   the 

grass  are  springing, 
As  they   laughed   to   meet    the 

sparkling  sun. 
Early  on  some  lovely  morn  of 

May, 
And  all  the  small  birds  on  the 

boughs  are  singing 
Best    of     music,    finished    and 

again  begun. 
What  other   equal   rapture  can 

we  pray  ? 
It  is  already  half  of  heaven. 
But  should  we  guess  what  other 

might  be  given, 
So  I  declare,  that,  which  in  my 

sight, 
in  minen  ougen   hat  getan  und  Still  better  seems,  and  still  would 
taete  ouch  noch,  gesaehe  ich  seem,   had   I  the  same   de- 

daz.  light. 


So  die  bluonien  uz  dem  grase 
dringent, 
same  si  lachen  gegen  der  spile- 
den  sunnen, 
in  eiuem  meien  an  dem  morgen 
fruo, 
und  die  kleinen  vogellhi  wol 
singent 
in  ir  besten  wise  die  sie  kunnen, 

waz  wiinne  mac  sich  da  geuozeu 
zuo? 
ez  ist  wol  halb  ein  himelriche. 
Suln  wir  sprechen,  waz  sich  deme 

geliche, 
so  sage  ich,  waz  mir  dicke  baz 


TUE  MIXNE8INGEBS.  43 

Swa  ein  edellu  sclioeue  f  rouwe  When  a  noble  dame  of  purest 

peine  beauty 
wol  gekleidet  unde  avoI  gebun-  Well    attired,    with   even   gar- 
den nisbed  tresses, 
durcb  kurzewile  zuo  A'il  liuten  Unto  all,  in  social  babit,  goes, 

gat, 

bovelicben  bocbgemuot,   uibt  Finely  gracious,  yet  subdued  to 

eine,  duty, 

umbe  sebende  ein  ■wenic  under  Wbose    impartial     glance    ber 

stunden  :  state  expresses, 

alsam  der  sunne  gegen  den  ster-  As  on  stars  tbe  sun  bis  radiance 

nen  stat  :  tbrows  ! 

der   meie    bringe   uns   al   sin  Tbeu  let  May  bis  bliss  renew 

wunder,  us  : 

waz  ist  dii  so  Aviinneclicbes  un-  'Wbat  is  tbere  so  blissful  to  us 

der 

als  ir  vil  minneclicber  lip  ?  As  ber  lips  of  love  to  see  ? 

\g\v  lazen  alle  bluomen  stan  und  We   gaze   upon  tbe  noble  dame, 

kapfen  an  daz  werde  wip.  and  let  tbe  blossoms  be. 


We  possess  nearly  two  liundred  of  tlie  poems  and 
songs  of  Waltlier  von  der  Vogelweide.  Some  of  tliem 
are  brief  single  verses,  -u-liicli  clirouicle  some  eA-ent  of 
liis  life,  or  his  individual  relation  to  tlie  times  in  wliicli 
lie  lived  ;  yet,  sliglit  as  tliey  are,  tliey  are  characterized 
by  a  roundness,  a  completeness,  an  elegance,  Avhich 
show  the  master's  hand.  I  should  like  to  quote  some 
stanzas  of  his  poem  "  In  the  Promised  Land,"  apparently 
Avritten  in  Palestine ;  but  my  space  is  so  brief  that  I 
prefer  selecting,  as  more  characteristic  of  the  Hohen- 
staufen  period,  his  defiance  of  Pope  Innocent  III.,  writ- 
ten after  the  latter  had  excommunicated  the  Emperor 
Otto.     He  commenced  by  comparing  him  to  Pope  Syl- 


44:  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

vester  II.,  whose  former  name  was  Gerbert,  who  had 
the  common  reputation  of  being  a  magician,  and  was 
believed  by  the  peoj)le  to  have  been  carried  off  by  the 
Deyih     Walther  says  : 

Der  stuol  ze  Rome  ist  allererst  berihtet  rehte 
als  liie  vor  bi  eiuem  zouberaere  Gerbrrehte. 
Der  gap  ze  valle  niwet  wan  siJi  eines  leben  : 
so  wil  sicli  dirre  unci  al  die  kristenheit  ze  valle  geben. 
Wan  riiefent  alle  zungen  bin  ze  bimele  wafen 
und  fragent  got,  wie  lauge  er  welle  slafen  ? 
Sie  ■Rdderwlirkent  siniu  were  und  velscbent  siniu  wort  : 
sin  kameraere  stilt  im  sineu  bimelbort, 
sin  siiener  roubet  Me  und  niordet  dort, 
sin  birte  ist  z'einem  wolve  im  worden  under  sinen  scliafen. 

The  cliair  at  Rome  is  now  properly  filled,  as  it  was  formerly  by 
tbe  magician  Gerbert.  He  plunged  into  ruin  only  his  own  one  soul  : 
the  present  one  will  ruin  himself  and  all  Christendom.  Why  do  not 
all  tongues  cry  to  heaven,  and  ask  God  how  long  He  will  quietly  look 
on  ?  They  oppose  His  works,  and  counterfeit  His  words  :  the  Pope's 
treasurers  steal  from  God's  heavenly  hoard  :  his  judges  rob  here,  and 
miirder  there,  and  God's  shepherd  has  become  a  wolf  among  His 
sheep. 

Here  is  another,  even  stronger,  provoked  by  the 
simony,  which  was  then  prevalent  in  the  Church,  and 
the  sale  of  absolutions  which,  three  hundred  years 
later,  gave  Luther  such  a  weapon  against  Eome : 

Ir  bischov'  unde  ir  edelen  pfaffen,  ir  sit  verleitet. 
Seht  wie  inch  der  babest  mit  des  tievels  stricken  seitet  ! 
Saget  ir  uns,  daz  er  sant  Peters  sliizzel  liabe, 
s6  saget,  war  umbe  er  sine  lere  von  den  buochen  schabe  ? 
Daz  man  gotes  gabe  iht  koufe  oder  verkoufe, 
daz  wart  uns  verboten  bi  der  toufe. 


THE  MINNESmGERS.  45 

Nil  lere  et'z  in  sin  swarzez  buoch,  daz  ime  der  liellemCr 

liat  gegeben,  und  uz  im  lese  et  siniii  ror, 

Ir  kardenaele,  ir  decket  iuwern  kor  : 

unser  alter  fruue  der  stet  undr  eiuer  iibelen  troufe. 

Ye  bishops  and  ye  noble  priests,  yon  are  misled.  See  liow  the 
Pope  entangles  you  in  the  Devil's  net !  If  yon  say  to  me  that  he  has 
the  keys  of  St.  Peter,  then  tell  me  why  he  banishes  St.  Peter's  teach- 
ing from  the  Bible  ?  By  our  baptism  it  is  forbidden  to  us  that  God's 
sacraments  should  be  bought  or  sold  !  But  now  let  him  read  that 
in  his  black  book,  which  the  DevU  gave  him,  and  take  his  tune  from 
Hell's  pipe  !  Ye  cardinals,  ye  roof  your  choirs  well  ;  but  our  old 
holy  altar  stands  exposed  to  evil  weather. 

This  is  strong  language  for  the  3'ear  1200.  In  other 
poems  Walther  speaks  of  the  inefficiency  of  a  pro- 
fession of  faith,  without  good  works,  very  much  as 
any  ^^ractical  Christian  of  our  day  might  speak.  His 
boklnesLS  was  equal  to  his  honesty :  he  gives  us  a  very 
distinct  impression  of  his  fine,  manly,  independent 
character,  of  a  life  unstained  by  the  prevalent  vices 
of  his  day,  and  of  a  simple,  loving  nature  which 
his  many  years  of  court-life  do  not  seem  to  have 
vitiated.  When  he  asks  Frederick  II.  to  give  him  a 
home,  it  is  because  he  feels  that  his  services  deserve  re- 
ward ;  and,  indeed,  the  property  he  finally  received  was 
barely  suflicient  to  support  him  in  his  age.  The  dis- 
tinguished Minnesingers  were  nearly  all  of  noble  blood ; 
for  the  nobles  of  Provence  and  Arragon  had  set  the 
fashion,  and  it  was  not  so  easy  for  a  plebeian  minstrel 
to  crowd  his  way  into  the  company  of  the  knightly 
singers.     Walther  von  der  Vooelweide  did  this — for  he 


46  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

was  ennobled  late  in  life — and  he  also,  by  tbe  force  of  his 
native  genius,  made  his  supremacy  acknowledged.  Al- 
though we  know  less  of  him  than  of  many  of  his  con- 
tem^Doraries,  we  cannot  study  the  literature  of  the  day 
without  finding  that  his  character  immediately  detaches 
itself  from  the  company  around  him,  and  shines  out 
alone  in  its  clearness  and  sweetness  and  strength. 

The  number  of  Minnesingers  is  quite  large,  but  many 
of  them  have  but  a  slight  literary  importance,  and  I 
will  not  burden  your  memories  with  a  complete  cata- 
logue. Passing  over  Ulric  von  Singenberg,  who  wrote  a 
lament  for  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  I  shall  pause  a 
moment  at  the  name  of  Nithart,  who  is  interesting  from 
the  circumstance  that,  although  he  was  a  wealthy  noble, 
the  material  of  his  songs  was  mostly  drawn  from  pea- 
sant life,  and  have  almost  a  coarsely  realistic  character, 
while  Walther,  the  born  peasant,  is  always  noble  and 
dignified  in  his  verses.  Nithart  was  also  a  crusader ; 
his  poetic  life  belongs  to  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  His  pictures  of  common  life,  dances,  festivals, 
love-making,  tricks  and  quarrels,  are  lively  and  some- 
times amusing,  but  prosaic  in  tone.  He  was  a  ready 
rhymer  rather  than  a  poet. 

One  of  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide's  imitators,  who 
during  his  life  acquired  nearly  an  equal  fame,  is  called 
the  Marner,  an  old  German  w^ord  corresponding  exactly 
with  our  Mariner.  His  real  name  is  unknown,  although 
he  was  said  to  have  been  a  nobleman.     His  verses  have 


THE  MmiTESmGEBS. 


47 


a  more  didactic  character  than  those  of  his  master,  but 
in  rhythmical  form  they  show  an  ahnost  equal  skill. 
Walther  was  really  the  first  who  gave  fluency  and  music 
to  the  High-German  dialect,  and  his  followers,  whatever 
might  be  their  amount  of  talent,  were  quick  to  copy  the 
external  graces  of  his  style.  Of  the  many  poems  of  the 
Marner,  I  will  quote  one  in  which  he  mentions  the 
themes  he  is  accustomed  to  sine  at  court : 


Icli  snnge  ein  bispel  oder  ein 
spel, 
ein  warlaeit  oder  ein  llige, 
icli  snnge  wol,  wie  Titurel 

die    Templeise    bi   dem     grale 

zllge, 
wie  slieze  ist  Sirene"h  don  und  arc 

des  cocatrillen  zorn. 
Icli  suuge  ouch  draclien  viurin 

kel, 
unt  wie  der  grife  vliige, 
wie  sicli  des  salamander  vel 
in    heizem    viure    stralite    und 

smiige 
unt  wie  sicli  teilt  sliimaeren  lip 

ant  wie  diu  vii^per  wi  rt  ge- 

born. 
Icli  sunge  oucli  wol,  wie  siniu 

eiger  briieten  kan  der  struz  ; 
icli  sunge  oucli  wol,  Avie  sicb  der 

f  eiiis  junget  uz  ; 
ich  suuge  oucli  wie  der  lit, 

der  manigen  in  der  wunderburc 
verslrtuden  bat  dur  sinen 
git. 


I  would  sing  a  fable  or  a  tale, 

A  truth  or  lie,  for  good  example ; 
How  forth   to    seek    the  Holy 

Grail 
Titurel  led  the  knights  of  the 

Temple  ; 
How  fierce  the  rage  of  crocodile, 

how  sweet  the  Siren's  tone. 
I  would  sing  of  the  fiery  dragon's 

throat, 
And  how  the  griffin  flietli  ; 
And  how  the  salamander's  coat 
Unto  the  flame  replyeth  ; 

How  the  Chimsera's  body  parts, 
and  how  the  snake  is  grown. 

I  would  also    sing  how  on  its 

eggs  the  ostrich  broods  ; 
And  how  the  phoenix  is  renewed, 

burned  up  with  spicy  woods; 
And   also  where  the  hero  lies 

asleep, 
Who'slew  so  many  in  the  magic 

keep. 


48  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Ein  Tvunder  wont  dem  hove  bi  'Mid   wondrous   customs,   tlius, 

mit  wunderliclien  siten  :  the  wondrous  beast  at  court 

mit  pfawen  scliriten,  Struts  like  a  peacock,  for  their 

sport, 

unt  mit  menschen  triten  With  human  feet  and  height, 

kan  ez  lagen,  losen,  biten  ;  Must  lie  and  beg  and  bite, 

ez  hat  mit  siner  zungen  wafen  And  many  a  lord  must  wound, 

maneges  barren  muot  ver-  with  tongue  that  knows  to 

sniteu  :  smite  : 

dem  kan  ich  gesingen  niht,  nun  For  such  I  cannot  sing — 'twould 

rede   ist    an    ime   gar  ver-  be  a  mock  delight  ! 

lorn. 

The  scornful  air  of  tlie  closing  words  suggests  to  us 
tliat  tlie  poem  is  satirical,  tlie  subjects  being  those 
demanded  by  the  taste  of  the  courts,  not  those  which 
the  poet  would  prefer  to  sing.  The  Marner  was  an- 
other bold,  indej)endent  character  who  scourged  the 
vices  and  follies  of  his  day ;  but  he  lived  beyond  the 
protection  of  the  Hohenstaufens,  and,  after  an  old  age 
of  jDoverty  and  persecution,  was  basely  murdered. 

Among  the  other  minstrels  of  note  were  Burkhardt 
von  Hohenfels  and  Ulric  von  Winterstetten,  whose  songs 
are  noted  for  illustrations  drawn  from  the  knightly 
pastime  of  the  chase ;  the  two  Eeinmars,  Eeinmar  the 
Old  and  Eeinmar  von  Zweter,  agreeable  singers,  but 
without  original  character ;  Master  Johannes  Hadlaub, 
who  has  left  behind  him  some  very  sweet  pastoral  and 
harvest  songs ;  the  monk  Wernher ;  Conrad  of  "Wiirz- 
burg,  and  Heinrich  von  Meissen,  who  became  famous 
under  the  name  of  Frcmenhh.  In  addition  to  these, 
there  were  many  who  were  known  by  epithets,  either 


THE  MINNESINGERS.  49 

assumed  or  bestowed  upon  them  by  the  people — such 
as  the  Chancellor,  the  Undaunted  and  the  School- 
master of  Esslingen.  In  sifting  their  productions,  we  do 
not  often  find  more  than  a  few  grains  of  genuine,  vital 
poetry  in  a  bushel  of  wordy  chaff;  but  they  all  have 
a  real  value,  from  their  constant  references  to  the  man- 
ners, morals  and  customs  of  the  age.  I  will  quote  a 
few  lines  from  Conrad  of  Wiirzburg,  written  about  forty 
years  after  TValther  von  der  Vogelweide,  to  show  what 
progress  had  been  made  in  developing  the  rhythmical 
capacity  of  the  language  : 


Jar  lane  wil  diu  linde  Year-long  will  tlie  linden 

vom  winde  The  wind  in 

sich  velwen,  Go  waving, 

Din  sicli  vor  dem  walde  While  a  tempest  sorest 

ze  balde  The  forest 

kan  selwen  ;  Is  braving  ; 

Triiren  uf  der  heide  To  wail  the  moorland  through, 

mit  leide  One's  sorrow 

man  Uebet ;  Is  doubled  ; 

sus  hat  niir  diu  minne  Sweetly  love's  jjretenses 

die  sinne  My  senses 

betriiebet.  Have  troubled. 


It  is  not  often  that  Goethe,  or  Eiickert,  or  Uhland 
emj^loys  a  difficult  metre  with  such  apparent  lightness 
and  ease.  But  in  Conrad's  lines  the  sound  is  more 
than  the  sense.  Toward  the  close  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  a  great  elaboration  and  refinement  of  form 
takes  the  place  of  fancy  and  sentiment,  and  from  this 
sign  we    anticipate    the   coming    decay   of  literature. 


50  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Even  Ulric  von  Winterstetten,  to  Avliom  we  must  grant 
some  amount  of  native  talent,  took  tlie  pains  to  write 
verses  in  lines  of  a  single  syllable,  such,  as  tliis  : 

Wol  uf,  ir  kint, 
sint 
vro, 
so 

muoz 
buoz 

sorgen  sin  ! 
Triiren,  var  hin  I 
Sin, 
muot 
tuot 
geil, 
lieil 
werden  scliin. 

It  is  impossible  to  translate  this ;  but  an  imitation 
will  answer  just  as  well : 

At  night,  "  Boys?" 

In  fright,  "  No, — 
Says  the  wife  :  Guess  !  " 

"  My  life,  "  Oh, 
Hear,  Tes  ! 

Near,  That's 

Noise  ! "  Cats  !  " 

One  more  quotation  from  Conrad  of  Wiirzburg  will 
be  enough  to  make  clear  the  degeneracy  into  which 
the  old  German  minstrelsy  fell.  This  is  a  stanza  from 
his  "Winter-Song": 

Schoene  doene  klungen. 
juugen  liuten,  triuten 
inne  nilnne  merte; 
sunder  wunder  baere 


THE  MINNESINGERS.  51 

swaere  wilden  bilden 

lieide,  weide  rerte, 

do  vio  sazen  die 

der  ger  lazen  spil  wil  hie. 

Instead  of  a  translation,  I  shall  quote  a  few  lines 
from  Thomas  Hood's  comical  proposition  to  write 
blank  verse  in  rhyme,  which  is  very  much  like  it: 

"  Evening  lias  come,  and  from  tlie  dark  park,  liark, 
The  signal  of  the  setting  sun — one  gun  ! 
And  sis  is  sounding  from  the  chime,  prime  time 
To  go  and  see  the  Drury-Lane  Dane  slain — 
Or  hear  Othello's  jealous  doubt  spout  out, 
Or  Macbeth  raving  at  that  shade-made  blade. 
Denying  to  his  frantic  clutch  much  touch  !  " 

I  give  these  grotesque  specimens,  because  there  is  a 
poetical  moral  to  be  drawn  from  them.  I  hardly  need 
to  point  it  out.  A  poem  may  have  perfect  form,  as  a 
woman  may  have  perfect  physical  beauty;  but  the  per- 
fect poem  requires  feeling  and  thought,  as  the  perfect 
woman  must  have  goodness  and  intelligence.  Forna, 
alone,  gives  us  a  waxen  doll,  heartless  and  brainless. 
This  characteristic  is  not  peculiar  to  the  age  of  the 
Minnesingers :  there  are  volumes  of  poetry,  published 
every  year,  in  which  we  find  it  very  clearly  manifested. 

The  minstrelsy  of  that  age,  like  all  popular  forms  of 
literature,  presents  two  different  aspects.  "We  may  say, 
indeed,  that  every  era  of  literature  has  three  classes  of 
writers — first,  the  Masters,  who  originate  new  forms  of 
expression,  and,  by  the  power  of  their  genius,  force  the 
race  to  accept  them ;  second,  the  honest  secondary  in- 


52  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

telligences,  who  imitate  and  illustrate  and  popularize, 
clear-sighted  to  follow  though  incapable  of  leading ; 
and  lastly,  that  class  of  vain  and  shallow  minds  who,  as 
Tennyson  says,  turn  the  new  flower  into  a  weed, — who 
unconsciously  parody  the  very  spirit  which  they  aspire 
to  possess.  Yet  their  grotesque  affectation  may  deceive 
a  portion  of  the  public,  and  they  may  die  in  the  full 
conviction  of  literary  immortality.  Among  the  Minne- 
singers, I  should  only  admit  Walther  von  der  Vogel- 
weide  to  the  rank  of  a  master.  In  the  second  class  I 
should  place  the  Marner,  Beinmar  von  Zweter,  Master 
Hadlaub  and  Burkhardt  von  Hohenfels ;  while  no  bet- 
ter representative  of  the  extravagant  burlesque  of  imi- 
tation would  be  desired  than  Ulric  von  Lichtenstein. 
He  was  an  Austrian,  of  the  same  race  from  which  the 
present  Princes  of  Lichtenstein  are  descended,  and  ap- 
pears to  have  begun  his  career  as  a  knight  and  minstrel 
about  the  year  1223.  If  Cervantes  had  known  anything 
of  the  German  Minnesingers,  we  might  charge  him  with 
borrowing  parts  of  his  Don  Quixote  from  Ulric  von 
Lichtenstein's  history.  The  latter  deliberately  chose 
his  Dulcinea,  and  for  years  devoted  himself  to  singing 
her  praises,  although  she  only  returned  him  scorn  and 
ridicule.  He  relates  that  she  would  not  at  first  look  at 
him  on  account  of  his  having  three  lips.  He  thereupon 
went  to  Gratz  and  employed  a  surgeon  to  cut  off  one  of 
them.  It  was  probably  a  hare-lip,  the  upper  one  count- 
ing for  two.     Then,  at  a  tourney  in  Brixen,  one  of  his 


TUE  MINNESINGERS.  53 

fingers  was  wounded,  and  lie  sent  her  word  tliat  lie  liad 
lost  it  for  lier  sake.  The  lady  discovered  soon  after- 
ward that  the  wound  was  healed,  and  she  so  ridiculed 
him  that  he  had  the  finger  actually  cut  off  and  sent  to 
her  in  a  box  lined  with  green  velvet.  Afterward,  he 
dressed  himself  as  a  woman,  braided  his  hair  with 
pearls,  called  himself  "Dame  Yenus,"  and  traveled 
through  Germany  and  Italy,  challenging  the  knights  to 
fight  with  him  (or  her),  in  honor  of  the  scornful  lady. 
He  traveled  in  state,  with  banners,  marshals,  heralds, 
musicians,  and  a  retinue  of  men  and  women,  and  it  is 
gravely  related  that,  during  the  years  of  this  singular 
and  most  expensive  pilgrimage,  he  fought  no  less  than 
five  hundred  and  seventy-eight  times.  Yet,  when  it  was 
over,  and  he  called  upon  the  lady  for  whose  sake  he  had 
dared  so  much,  she  had  him  thrown  out  of  the  window 
of  her  castle  !  She  assured  him  repeatedly  that  she  not 
only  did  not  love  but  actually  hated  him,  and  it  is  not 
probable  that  there  was  the  least  love  on  his  side.  She 
was  a  married  lady,  and  he  had  his  own  wife  and  chil- 
dren ill  his  castle  of  Lichtenstein ;  yet  for  thirty-three 
years  he  kept  up  the  absurd  farce,  writing  poems,  sing- 
ing and  fighting,  followed  by  crowds  of  silly  knights 
who  admired  his  constancy  and  bravery,  and  enjoying 
an  immense  amount  of  popularity.  The  colossal  affec- 
tation of  his  career  seems  to  us  little  short  of  idiocy ; 
but  every  age  has  the  same  phenomena,  and  it  would 
not  be  difficult  to  find  names  now,  both  in  Europe  and 


54  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

America,  wliicli  have  become  notorious  from  as  absurd 
reasons  as  that  of  Ulric  von  Lichtenstein  in  his  daj.  I 
will  quote  nothing  from  his  long-winded  work,  called 
"Frauendiensf,''  "Woman's  Service,  because  I  find  it  a 
prosaic,  tiresome  performance,  of  little  more  value  in 
German  literature,  except  as  a  curious  picture  of  the 
times,  than  are  the  novels  of  Sylvanus  Cobb  in  ours. 

Heinrich  von  Meissen,  or  Fraiienloh,  has  also  a  more 
conspicuous  place  than  he  deserves.  It  was  his  good 
luck  that  he  lived  at  the  close  of  the  period  when  min- 
strels had  become  scarce,  and  the  glor}^  of  the  better 
singers  threw  a  reflected  light  on  his  own  performances. 
He  is  said  to  have  established  the  first  school  of  min- 
strelsy in  Mainz,  in  the  early  part  of  the  fourteenth 
century.  When  he  died,  women  bore  his  body,  with 
weeping  and  lamentations,  to  his  tomb  in  the  cathedral, 
and,  as  an  old  chronicler  says,  "  poured  so  much  wine 
upon  the  tombstone,  that  the  whole  church  was  flooded 
with  it."  In  the  schools  afterward  established,  w^here 
versification  was  taught  as  we  teach  grammar  or  arith- 
metic, he  is  credited  as  the  inventor  of  thirty-five  meas- 
ures. About  five  hundred  of  his  strophes  have  survived, 
— quite  enough  to  enable  us  to  judge  of  his  quality  as 
an  author.  He  has  given  us  his  own  opinion  of  his 
merits  in  one  of  his  poems.  Speaking  of  Eeinmar,  Wol- 
fram von  Eschenbach  and  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide, 
he  says :  "  They  sang  of  the  froth  and  neglected  the 
substance,  but  I  di]:)  from  the  very  bottom  of  the  ves- 


THE  MINNESINGERS.  55 

sel,  and  the  slirine  of  mj  song  should  be  splendidly 
crowned.  I  am  the  master  of  all  those  who  have  sung 
heretofore,  or  who  sing  now.  I  wear  the  yoke  of  pro- 
foundest  thought,  and  my  words  and  harmonies  never 
wander  from  the  track  of  the  true  sense."  In  spite  of 
these  lofty  claims,  the  most  of  his  poems  are  so  obscure, 
artificial  and  involved,  that  they  cannot  now  be  read  with 
any  satisfaction.  Yet,  when  he  chooses  to  be  simple  and 
natural,  singing  some  theme  which  appeals  to  the  com- 
mon sentiment  of  man,  he  has  still  the  power  to  give  us 
pleasure.  One  of  his  poems,  entitled  "  Honor  Women ! " 
commences : 

O  reiniu   wip,  uflialtunge   aller       0   woman,  pure,    all  worlds  in 
welde  thee  preserving 

gen  Gote  unt  gen  der  muoter  sin,       For  God   and   for    His    Mother 

divine, 
als  hie  mit  sange  ich  melde.  My  song  proclaims,   from   thee 

unsweiving, 
si  sint  der  liOhsten  saelden  schriu  :       Of   highest   souls  art    thou  the 

shrine  : 
kein  meister  mac  ir  hohez  lop  vol-       No  master  can  exhaust  thy  lofty 
denken.  praises. 

The  phrase  itfhaltunge  aUer  welde  suggests  to  us  at  once 
the  exclamation  of  Faust,  "  Tiibegriff  von  alien  Himmcln.'' 
Frauenlob  stands  at  the  close,  as  Diethmar  von  Aist  at 
the  beginning  of  this  bright  period  of  one  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  during  Avhich  the  seeds  of  all  modern  lyric 
poetry  were  planted  in  Provence  and  Germany. 

The  most  famous  event  in  the  literary  history  of  the 
Middle  Ages — the  Stingerkrieg,  or  "War  of  the  Minstrels, 


5G  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

ill  tlie  Wartburg  Castle,  near  Eisenacli, — is  sucli  a  sin- 
gular mixture  of  possible  fact  and  evident  fiction,  that  we 
shall  probably  never  ascertain  the  true  story.  German 
scholars  seem  to  be  agreed  that  there  was  a  meeting  of 
Minnesingers,  a  tournament  of  song,  at  the  Wartburg, 
between  the  years  1204  and  1208 ;  but  they  cannot  satis- 
factorily explain  in  w^hat  manner  the  romantic  legend 
grew,  so  many  features  of  which  were  long  accepted  as 
undoubted  history.  The  old  chroniclers  relate  that  the 
combat  took  place  at  the  court  of  Hermann,  Landgraf 
or  Count  of  Thuriugia,  and  his  wife,  the  Countess 
Sophia.  There  were  present  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach, 
Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  Heinrich  von  Ofterdingen, 
Keinmar  von  Zweter,  Biterolf  and  the  Yirtuous  Scribe. 
The  penalty  of  failure  was  death  by  the  executioner's 
hand,  and  this  fate  fell  upon  Henry  of  Ofterdingen,  who 
implored  the  mediation  of  the  Countess  Sophia,  claim- 
ing that  he  was  unfairly  judged,  and  asking  time  to  bring 
his  master,  the  minstrel  Klingsor,  from  Hungary,  to  aid 
him.  The  prayer  was  granted  :  Henry  went  to  Hun- 
gary, reappeared  with  Klingsor  in  a  year  and  a  day, 
and  the  latter  succeeded,  with  the  devil's  assistance,  in 
rivaling,  though  not  overcoming.  Wolfram  von  Eschen- 
bach. The  result  was,  however,  that  Henry  of  Ofter- 
dingen's  life  was  saved. 

The  few  facts  are,  that  the  Landgraf  Hermann  of  Thu- 
ringia  was  a  patron  of  literature  ;  that  both  Wolfram  von 
Eschenbach  and  Walther  von  der  Vosrelweide  were  his 


THE  MINNESINGERS.  57 

guests  in  the  Wartburg,  and  that  the  courtly  minstrels 
who  chanted  their  own  songs  sometimes  met  in  rivalry. 
But  Reinmar  von  Zweter  belongs  to  a  later  generation, 
the  Hungarian  Klingsor  is  certainly  a  fictitious  charac- 
ter, and  there  is  no  satisfactory  evidence  of  a  Heinrich 
von  Ofterdingen,  if  the  Minnesinger  who  is  simply 
named  Heinrich  be  not  the  same.  The  poetic  frag- 
ment, purporting  to  be  the  strife  between  Klingsor  and 
Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,  betrays  the  speech  of  tlie  end 
of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  some  conjecture  that  it 
was  written  by  Frauenlob. 

Not  many  years  ago,  the  restoration  of  the  Wartburg, 
which  afterward  became  the  scene  of  the  most  memora- 
ble year  of  Luther's  life,  was  undertaken  by  the  Grand- 
Duke  of  Saxe-Weimar,  and  it  was  found  that  many  win- 
dows and  arched  galleries  in  the  most  beautiful  Byzan- 
tine style,  frescoes  and  other  forms  of  ornament,  dating 
from  the  time  of  the  Landgraf  Hermann,  had  been  filled 
up,  plastered  over  and  hidden  by  later  masonry.  The 
ancient  halls  have  now  resumed  their  original  char- 
acter, and  the  walls  within  which  the  minstrels  sang, 
the  raised  dais  for  the  ruling  prince  and  his  wife,  and 
the  deep  mullioned  windows  through  which  they  looked 
on  the  wooded  mountain  ranges  around,  stand  at  pres- 
ent as  they  then  stood.  While  there,  knowing  that  at 
least  two  renowned  Minnesingers  had  certainly  sung 
within  that  liall,  I  found  it  easy  to  believe  the  pic- 
turesque legend. 
3* 


53  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Tlie  story  of  Tannhauser  belongs  to  tlie  same  neigli- 
borliood,  and  some  traditions  connect  liim  with  tlie  war 
of  the  minstrels,  although  he  was  contemporary  with 
Hermann's  son,  Ludwig,  and  with  the  latter's  wife,  St. 
Elizabeth  of  Hungary.  The  Horselberg,  a  barren  ridge 
which  rises  over  an  intervening  valley,  northeast  of  the 
Wartburg,  is  believed  to  be  the  mountain  of  Venus,  in 
the  interior  of  which  Tannhiiuser  found  the  heathen 
goddess  and  her  court. 

In  order  to  appreciate  the  legend  of  Tannhauser,  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  ancient  gods  were  not 
immediately  forgotten  after  the  triumph  of  Christianity. 
The  common  people  gradually  came  to  look  upon  them 
as  evil  demons,  who  still  existed,  and  the  one  to  be 
mosL  dreaded  was  Dame  Venus.  She  was  supposed  to 
live  somewhere,  with  her  Nymphs  and  Graces,  in  a 
wonderful  siibterranean  garden.  The  knight  Tann- 
hiiuser, in  the  legend,  finds  the  entrance  to  this  garden, 
descends  and  lives  there  a  year  in  the  midst  of  pagan 
delights.  He  grows  weary  at  last,  comes  back  to  the 
world,  recognizes  his  sin,  and  wanders  as  a  penitent 
pilgrim  to  Eome.  There  he  confesses  everything  to  the 
Pope,  and  begs  for  pardon  :  but  the  Pope,  holding  a 
staff  in  his  hand,  answers  :  "  Sooner  shall  this  dry  stick 
burst  into  blossoms,  than  pardon  come  to  a  sin  like 
thine  !  "  Tannhauser  wanders  back  to  Germany  in  de- 
spair ;  but  three  days  after  his  departure  the  Pope's 
staff  bursts  into  blossom.      A  messenger  is   instantly 


THE  MINNESINGEES. 


59 


clispatclied  witli  the  news  of  the  miracle  and  the  i3ar- 
don.  It  is  too  late  :  Tannhiiuser  has  already  gone  down 
again  to  the  garden  of  Dame  Venus,  and  never  returns. 
Thus  the  name  of  the  real  Tannhauser  is  surrounded 
by  a  romantic  interest,  at  once  tragic  and  tender,  which 
is  justified  by  nothing  in  his  life  or  his  rather  common- 
place poems.  He  was  an  Austrian,  a  crusader,  and 
died  about  the  year  1270.  "With  all  the  magic  which 
later  poets,  and  last  of  all  a  modern  composer,  have 
thrown  backward  upon  his  name,  I  find  it  impossible 
to  feel  any  interest  in  his  poetry.  The  concluding  lines 
of  his  "Minstrel's  Lament"  will  give  a  sufficient  idea 
of  his  style  : 


Miu    lius,  daz   stat    gar    ane 
dacli.Bwie  icli  dar  zuo  gebare, 
min  stube  steht  gar  ane  tiir,  daz 
ist  mir  'wordeu  swaere, 

Min  kelre  ist  in  gevallen,  min 
kiiclie  ist  mir  verbrunnen, 

min  stadel  stat  gar  ane  bant,  des 
bous  ist  mir  zerrunnen  ; 

mir  ist  gebacben,  nocb  gemaln, 
gebruwen  ist  mir  selteu  ; 

mir  ist  diu  wat  ze  diinnegar,  des 
mag  ich  wol  entgelten  : 

mich  darf  durcb  geraete  nieman 
niden,  nocb  bescbolten. 


My  bouse,  it   stands  witbout  a 

roof,  bowever  I  repair  it  ; 
My  cbamber  stands  witbout   a 

door,    'tis    bard   for  me  to 

bear  it ; 
My  cellar-vaults  bave  tumbled 

in,   my    kitcben    bas    been 

burned  iip, 
My  barn  it  stands  witbout  a  lock, 

no  bay  could  tbere  be  turned 

up  : 
Tbey  never  grind  nor  bake  for 

me,  tbey  brew  for  me  but 

rarely. 
My  coat  is  worn   so  very  tbin  I 

am  treating  it  iinfairly  ; 
None  bas  a  rigbt  to  envy  me, 

still     less     to     scold      me 

squarely. 


There  is  not  much  of  the  transcendental  worshiper 


GO  GERMAN  LITERATURE, 

of  tlie  antique  goddess  in  these  lines  ;  but,  fortunately, 
when  we  come  to  substitute  History  for  Romance,  if  we 
find  many  sliadowy  beauties  shrink  away  to  a  basis  of 
rather  coarse  fact,  we  are  compensated  by  the  discovery 
of  unsuspected  grace  and  nobility  and  gentle  manhood. 
It  is  a  bright,  animated,  eventful  age  which  we  find  re- 
flected in  the  literature  of  the  Minnesingers ;  not  trivial, 
for  the  stern  premonition  of  coming  struggle  is  felt ; 
frank,  artless,  and  natural,  but  almost  never  coarse; 
original,  because  reaped  on  fresh  fields,  by  fresh  hands  ; 
and  with  a  direct  impress  of  Nature,  which  we  find  for 
the  first  time  in  any  literature.  We  can  only  express  it 
properly  by  its  German  word  Geniuth,  which,  in  our 
language,  includes  both  feeling  and  sentiment.  A  hun- 
dred years  later,  the  kindred  blood  sent  the  same 
warmth  to  the  heart  and  brain  of  Chaucer,  and  an  inde- 
pendent English  literature  began  to  grow,  not  by  the 
same  stages,  but  by  related  laws  of  development.  No 
one  can  study  the  two  periods,  without  feeling  liow  near 
the  natures  of  the  races  still  were  to  each  other. 


in. 

THE  MEDIEVAL   EPICS. 

I  HAVE  already  said  tliat  tlie  age  of  tlie  Minnesingers 
was  especially  an  age  of  epic  poetry,  and  tliat  many  of 
its  authors  were  renowned  in  botli  qualities.  It  is  pos- 
sible that  the  brief  lyrics  and  songs  of  love  and  of  the 
charms  of  nature,  performed  as  important  a  service  in 
popularizing  literature  and  furthering  the  higher  educa- 
tion of  the  whole  people,  as  the  somewhat  ponderous 
epics  of  the  time  ;  but  the  broad  and  massive  character 
of  epic  poetry,  the  deeper  elements  with  which  it  deals, 
give  it  an  intrinsic  dignity  and  authority  which  cannot 
belong  to  the  short  flights  of  lyric  song.  The  latter 
may  furnish  the  ornament  of  the  temple,  but  the  former 
contributes  the  blocks  and  the  pillars  which  give  it 
space  and  permanence. 

In  examining  the  German  epics  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  tracing  the  sources  of  their  material,  as  Avell  as  the 
tastes  or  fashions  of  thought  which  have  had  an  influ- 
ence in  determining  their  character,  we  soon  discover 
the  presence  of  two  very  clearly  separated  elements. 
One  has  a  racy  flavor  of  the  native  soil,  the  other  be- 
trays the  presence  of  foreign  ingredients.  One  seems 
to  have  grown  through  the  richer  development  of  that 

61 


G2  GERMAN  LITERATUBE. 

iiutochtlionous  poetic  genius  wliich  produced  the  "Hilde- 
hrandslicd,"  itself  a  descendant  of  older  and  wholly  lost 
lays  of  the  ancient  Teutonic  gods  and  heroes  ;  the  other, 
starting  from  the  Latin  epic,  "  Walther  of  Aquitaine,"  in 
the  tenth  century,  and  revived  by  the  German  "Eneid,'' 
of  Heinrich  von  Yeldeck,  in  the  twelfth,  assimilated  the 
romantic  material  of  Wales,  Cornwall  and  Brittany, 
became  quickened  with  a  different  soul  and  embodied 
itself  in  different  forms.  In  short,  as  the  simplest  dis- 
tinction between  the  two,  I  should  call  the  first  the 
epic  poetry  of  the  People,  and  the  second  the  epic  j^oe- 
try  of  the  Courts.  One  is  represented  by  the  "Nibdun- 
genlied,''^  with  its  continuations,  and  "Gvdrnn;  "  the  other 
by  the  epics  of  "Tristan"  "Farzivai;'  "Erei;'  "Iivein;' 
" Titii/}^er'  and  the  shorter  heroic  ballads. 

I  am  obliged  to  omit  a  numerous  class  of  works  which 
appeared  during  the  eleventh,  tAvelfth  and  thirteenth 
centuries,  many  of  which  have  been  preserved,  for  the 
reason  that  they  are  only  embodiments  of  the  legends 
of  the  Church,  the  lives  of  the  saints,  or  the  exploits  of 
Greek  and  Eoman  heroes,  in  a  poetical  form — rhymed 
narratives  of  little  literary  value,  although  they  were 
no  doubt  important  agents  in  the  education  of  the  race. 
In  days  when  there  were  neither  newspapers,  political 
meetings,  elections,  societies  of  Beform  or  cheap  litera- 
ture, men  might  very  well  sit  down  to  the  perusal  of  an 
epic  of  seventy-five  or  one  hundred  thousand  lines  ;  but 
when  I  select  the  five  or  six,  which  really  deserve  notice 


THE  MEDIEVAL  EPICS.  63 

as  illustrations  of  the  narrative  genius  of  that  age,  and 
find  that  they  will  average  nearly  twenty  thousand  lines 
apiece,  I  find  my  task  sufficient,  and  must  not  go  be- 
yond it. 

The  ^^ Nibelungenlied''^  and  "Gndrmi^^  must  be  treated 
separately.  They  floated  along,  under  the  favoring  cur- 
rent which  bore  the  courtly  epics,  almost  unnoticed,  and 
working  upon  the  race  by  very  slow  and  subtle  agen- 
cies. Their  influence  on  the  German  authors  of  our 
day  has  been  much  greater  than  it  ajDpears  to  have 
been  upon  the  minstrels  of  the  Middle  Ages.  But  the 
epics  of  Gottfried  von  Strasburg,  "Wolfram  von  Eschen- 
bach,  Hartmann  von  Aue  and  the  Priest  Conrad,  had  an 
immediate  effect  upon  the  language  and  literary  tastes 
of  the  educated  classes  throughout  Germany.  They 
have  a  monumental  character  in  the  literary  history  of 
the  race  ;  they  are  part  of  the  expression  of  a  great  and 
wonderful  period,  not  dark,  as  it  has  been  foolishly 
called,  but  full  of  scattered  lights,  uncertain  as  morn- 
ing, restless  as  early  spring,  and,  like  both,  bringing 
life  unto  men. 

Like  the  Elizabethan  dramatists,  all  the  famous  epic 
poets  and  Minnesingers  were  contemporaries ;  the  life 
of  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,  the  greatest  of  the  former, 
from  about  1150  to  about  1230,  covers  the  epic  and 
the  best  of  the  lyric  period.  The  Latin  narrative 
poetry  of  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries,  and  the 
versified  religious  legends,  undoubtedly  prepared   the 


G4  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

way  for  tlie  greater  works  whicli  followed ;  but  the  first 
fresh  impulse  toward  the  creation  of  genuine  heroic 
epics  was  given,  between  1170  and  1180,  by  the  nearly 
simultaneous  production  of  three  narrative  poems  of 
great  length, — the  "HolandsUed"  of  Priest  Conrad,  the 
''Alexanderslied  "  of  Priest  Lamprecht,  and  the  "Eneid"  of 
Heinrich  von  Yeldeck.  The  first  of  these  is  a  transla- 
tion of  the  earlier  French  '' Chanson  de  Boland;"  the  sec- 
ond is  a  rhymed  history  of  Alexander  the  Great,  with 
romantic  amj^lifications ;  and  the  third  is  a  very  free 
translation,  in  the  romantic  manner,  from  Virgil.  The 
popularity  of  these  works  may  have  been  one  cause 
which  led  the  greater  poets  to  exercise  their  genius  in 
the  same  field,  since  they  too  commenced  their  literary 
career  as  Minnesingers. 

The  subject  of  the  ^'EolandsUed"  belongs  to  the  litera- 
ture of  France.  I  need  only  say  that  Geoffrey  of  Mon- 
mouth, whose  chronicles  of  Arthur  and  his  Knights  of 
the  Eound  Table  were  professedly  translations  of  the 
Welsh  legends,  preceded  the  German  epics  by  fifty 
or  sixty  years,  so  that  their  material  was  certainly 
drawn  from  him  and  from  the  French  versions  of  the 
same  legends.  History  gives  us  little  knowledge  of 
either  Roland  or  of  Arthur :  we  cannot  be  sure  of  much 
more  than  the  simple  fact  that  there  were  such  per- 
sons ;  but  the  marvelous  legendary  growths  which  col- 
lect around  certain  names,  have  an  astonishing  vitality  : 
like  the  air-plants  of  Brazil,  their  gorgeous  blossoms 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  EPICS.  65 

and  exquisite  fragrance  seem  to  spring  from  nothing. 
The  "  Clianson  de  RolancV  is  no  longer  read,  except  by 
scholars,  but  the  famous  paladin  still  lives  and  wields 
his  sword  Durindarte,  and  blows  his  tremendous  horn 
at  Konceval,  in  Ariosto's  ''Orlando''''  and  in  the  exquisite 
ballads  of  Uhland.  During  the  Middle  Ages,  the  different 
sagenkreise,  or  legendary  circles,  sometimes  became  curi- 
ously mixed,  not  only  with  each  other,  but  with  certain 
striking  episodes  of  classic  history.  Thus  the  feat  of 
Xerxes  at  the  Hellespont  was  transferred  to  Charle- 
magne, who,  as  early  as  the  tenth  century,  was  believed 
by  the  people  to  have  built  a  bridge  across  the  sea  in 
order  to  visit  Palestine.  Then  Charlemagne's  pilgrim- 
age was  transferred  to  Arthur,  who  was  said  to  have 
made  a  journey  to  Jerusalem  at  the  invitation  of  the 
Sultan, — although  he  lived  long  before  there  were  any 
sultans !  As  the  legend  passed  from  age  to  age,  each 
version  took  the  entire  stamjj  and  character  of  the 
day — precisely  as  Tennyson's  Arthur  and  Geraint  and 
Elaine  and  Guinevere  are  not  Celts  of  the  sixth  century, 
but  ideal  English  men  and  women  of  the  nineteenth. 
I  doubt,  indeed,  whether  any  literary  work  would  be 
generally  acceptable  to  the  people  if  this  were  not  so — 
that  is,  if  the  speech,  customs  and  character  of  former 
ages  were  reproduced  with  historical  accuracy.  But  the 
mirage,  which  the  Romancers  impose  between  far-off, 
insignificant  circumstances  and  our  eyes,  turns  the  for- 
mer into  grand,  illusive  forms.     Arthur,  for  example, 


66  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

seems  to  liave  been  the  owner  or  feudal  lord  of  tlic 
island  of  Avalon,  on  tlie  coast  of  Brittany — tlie  name 
Avalon  signifying  apple-trees.  After  liis  death,  it  was 
said  in  Cornwall  that  he  had  gone  to  Avalon,  and  the 
word  gradually  came  to  signify  some  Armoric  Elysium, 
whence  he  would  return  in  time  and  drive  the  Saxons 
from  Britain.  In  Tennyson's  verse,  the  mysterious  trans- 
formation becomes  complete,  and  we  read  of  Arthur 
carried  away  to 

"  The  island-valley  of  Avilion 
Where  falls  not  hail,  or  rain,  or  any  snow, 
Nor  ever  wind  blows  loudly  ;  but  it  lies 
Deep-meadowed,  happy,  fair  with  orchard  lawns 
And  bowery  hollows  crowned  with  summer  sea." 

So  the  Arthurian  legends  become  larger,  broader,  and 
transformed  in  many  important  features,  in  passing  into 
German  epic  song.  Their  personages  are  advanced 
from  the  sixth  century  to  the  twelfth,  and  their  love, 
sorrow,  jealousy  and  revenge  express  themselves  ac- 
cording to  the  fashion  of  the  later  time.  But,  as  in  the 
old  Flemish  paintings,  we  can  study  the  costume  of  the 
artist's  time  and  home  as  well  in  a  Holy  Family  as  in  a 
tavern  scene,  so  here  the  foreign  theme  is  only  an  il- 
lustration of  the  tastes,  opinions  and  habits  of  the  age. 

The  wonderful  age  of  epic  jDoetry  in  Germany,  un- 
der the  Hohenstaufen  Emperors,  lasted  about  as  long 
as  the  age  of  English  drama,  under  Elizabeth  and 
James  I.— about  fifty  years.  It  is  difficult  to  describe 
several  epics  satisfactorily,  in  a  single  lecture  ;  but  I 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  EPICS.  67 

may  perhaps  be  able  to  enlist  your  interest  by  showing 
how  the  same  material  which  we  find  in  them  has  taken 
possession  of  modern  Literature  and  Art.  They  were 
all  inspired  by  the  half-historic,  half-romantic  legends 
wdiich  already  existed.  The  chief  of  these  were  the 
following  : — first — the  oldest  Scandinayian  Eddas,  with 
the  story  of  Sigurd  and  Brynhilda :  second — a  lost 
group  of  Gothic  and  Burgundian  legends,  one  of  which 
we  find  in  the  Lay  of  Hildebrand :  third — the  Celtic 
group  of  King  Arthur  and  the  Knights  of  the  Eound 
Table :  fourth — the  search  for  the  Holy  Grail ;  and 
lastly,  a  great  number  of  subordinate  legends,  partly 
growing  out  of  these,  partly  borrowed  from  the  Orient 
during  the  Crusades,  and  partly  original.  Now,  it  is 
very  singular  to  notice  how  all  this  material  has  been 
worked  over,  with  little  change  except  that  of  detail,  in 
the  literature  of  our  day.  I  need  only  recall  to  your 
memory  Bulwer's  epic  of  "  King  Arthur  ; "  Longfellow's 
"Golden  Legend;"  Tennyson's  "Idylls  of  the  King;" 
Matthew  Arnold's  "Tristram  and  Iseult ;"  Swinburne's 
poem  of  "Tristram  and  Iseult;"  Morris's  "Lovers  of 
Gudrun,"  and  "Sigurd  the  Volsung;"  the  German, 
Jordan's  " Nihelungenlied,''  and  finally,  Wagner's  operas 
of  "Lohengrin'"  and  the  "Nibelungen  Trilogy,''  j)erformed 
at  Bayreuth.  It  will  certainly  help  us  to  estimate  the 
true  value  of  these  works,  by  knowing  the  sources 
from  which  they  sprang.  Moreover,  by  taking  par- 
allel passages  from  the  poems  of  the  German  and  the 


68  GERMAN  LITEBATURE. 

modem  authors,  we  have  the  best  possible  illustratiou 
of  the  changes  in  modes  of  poetic  expression  which  have 
taken  place  in  the  lapse  of  six  hundred  and  fifty  years. 

I  shall  adhere  to  the  plan,  which  I  stated  in  begin- 
ning these  lectures,  of  noticing  only  those  works  which 
give  a  distinct,  characteristic  stamp  to  each  literary  pe- 
riod. Therefore,  in  treating  of  the  German  epics  of  the 
twelfth  century,  I  shall  select  the  three  greatest  repre- 
sentatives, and  say  nothing  of  the  crowd  of  inferior 
singers  who  imitated  them. 

It  is  remarkable  that  we  know  so  little  of  the  lives  of 
these  three  principal  epic  poets.  We  can  only  conjec- 
ture, from  some  collateral  evidence,  the  probable  time 
when  they  were  born  and  died.  Gottfried  von  Stras- 
burg  seems  to  have  first  died,  and  Wolfram  von  Eschen- 
bacli  to  have  outlived  Hartmann  von  Aue.  I  shall  com- 
mence with  the  last,  as  certainly  the  least  endowed.  It 
is  unknown  wdiether  he  was  of  Swiss  or  of  Suabian  birth; 
it  is  only  known  that  he  was  noble.  He  was  one  of 
the  crusaders  under  Barbarossa,  devoted  himself  to 
poetry  after  his  return,  and  died  somewhere  between 
1210  and  1220.  He  seems  to  have  enjoyed  a  great  deal  of 
popularity,  and  Gottfried  of  Strasburg,  in  his  "Tristan," 
ranks  him  high  above  Wolfi'am  von  Eschenbach,  jDroba- 
bly  because  the  latter  was  a  more  dangerous  rival. 

Hartmann  von  Aue  wrote  four  epics — "Erek,"  "  Gre- 
goriiis  vom  Steine'"  (Gregory  of  the  Rock),  "Der  arme 
Heinrich "  (Poor  Henry),  and  "Iwehu''     Three  of  these 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  EPICS.  69 

were  based  on  foreign  originals,  from  wliicli  tliey  differ 
only  in  a  few  details  and  in  manner  of  treatment.  One, 
the  "  Poor  Henry,"  apjDears  to  have  been  derived  from 
a  tradition  in  the  poet's  own  family,  or,  at  least,  in 
his  native  province.  For  the  subject  of  his  "Erek," 
I  refer  you  to  Tennyson's  poem  of  "Enid,"  in  his 
"  Idylls  of  the  King."  In  Hartmann's  epic  Enid  is  also 
the  wife,  but  the  husband  is  named  Erek  instead  of 
Geraint.  The  story  is  almost  exactly  the  same,  except 
that  Tennyson  reconciles  Geraint  with  his  wife  imme- 
diately after  the  slaughter  of  Earl  Doorm  in  his  castle, 
while  Hartmann  first  adds  another  adventure.  He 
brings  Erek  to  the  castle  of  Brandigan  (Burgundy?), 
whose  lord  has  overcome  eighty  knights  in  combat,  and 
holds  their  eighty  ladies  imprisoned.  Erek  slays  the 
lord  of  Brandigan,  liberates  the  ladies,  and  then  goes 
with  Enid  to  Arthur's  Court.  It  may  interest  you  to 
compare  corresponding  passages  from  the  German  cru- 
sader and  the  modern  English  poet : 

Nu  kam  ez  also  nacli  ir  site,  Now  happened  it  as  was  their 

wout, 
daz  er  iimb  eincn  mitten  tac  That  he,  about  tlie  warm  noon- 

tide 
an  ir  arme  gelac.  Was  sleeping  by  her  side. 

Nu  gezam    des  wol  der  sunnen      The  siin  therein  so  fairly  beamed 

schin, 
daz  er  dienest  muoste  sin,  That  he  their  servant  seemed, 

wand  er  den  gelieben  zwein  When  he  th(>  wedded  pair 

durch  ein  vensterglas  schein  So  through  the  window  there 

unt  het  die  kemenaten  Did  light,  that  in  the  room, 

liehtes  wol  beraten,  There  nothing  was  of  gloom. 


70 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


daz  si  sich  molitcn  undersehen. 

Daz  ir  von  fluochen  was  gesclie- 

hen, 
dii  beguncle  se  denkeu  an  : 

vil  galies  rulite  si  hin  dan  ; 

si  wande,  daz  er  sliefe. 
Einen  siuften  nam  si  tiefe 
unde  sacTi  in  vaste  an  ; 
si  spracli  :  "We  dir,  vil  armer 

man, 
unt  mir  ellendem  wibe, 
daz  icli  bi  minem  libe 
so    mauegen    fiuoch    veruemen 

sol  !  " 
Do  vernam  Erec  die  rede  vrol. 
Als  si  der  rede  bet  gedaget, 

Erec   spracb  :    "  Frowe   Enite, 

saget, 
waz  sint  iwer  sorgen, 
die  ir  da  klaget  verborgen  ?  " 
Nu  wolde  sis  gelougent  ban  ; 
Erec  spracb  :  "  Lat  die  rede  stan  ; 

des  nemet  in  ein  zil, 
daz  icb  die  rede  wizzen  wil. 
Ir  mliezet  mir  benamen  sagen, 
waz  icb  iucb  da  borte  klagen, 

daz  ir  vor  mir  sus  babt  verswi- 

gen." 
Si  vorbte,  daz  si  wurde  gezigen 

von  ini  ander  dinge 
unt  seite  imz  mit  gedinge  ; 
daz  er  ir  daz  gebieze, 
dqz  erz  ane  zorn  lieze. 


And  tbey  eacb  otbcr  well  could 

see. 
Tben  fell  to  tbinking  sbe, 

Tbat  be,  tbrougb  ber,  was  exe- 
crate ; 

Tbence  was  ber  trouble  swift 
and  great ; 

Sbe  tbougbt  be  was  asleep  ; 

Now  sigbetb  sbe  full  deep. 

And  looketb  on  bim  steadily. 

Sbe  said  :  "Poor  man,  alas  for 
tbee 

And  me,  tby  miserable  wife, 

Tbat  ever  in  my  life 

So  many  curses  sbould  receive  ! " 

All  tbis  did  Erek  well  perceive  : 
Wben  sbe  tbat  speecb  bad  fin- 

isbed. 
Tell  me,  Dame  Enid,"  Erek  said, 

Wbat  tben  may  be  your  pain, 
Tbat  you  so  secretly  complain  ?  " 
Now  wben  deny  would  sbe, 
Said   Erek  :    "  Let  your  talking 

be; 
And  be  your  duty  so. 
As  I  your  words  desire  to  know. 
Verily  you  must  say  again 
Wbat  now  I  beard  you  sore  com- 
plain, 
Wbat  you  from  me  bave  tbus 

concealed." 
Sbe  feared  lest  tbere  migbt  be 

revealed 
To  bim,  quite  otber  tbing. 
And  spoke,  be  promising 
To  bear  witbouten  wi'atb, 
Wbat  now  sbe  spoken  batb. 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  EPICS. 


71 


Als  er  vernam  die  maere, 
"waz  dill  rede  waere, 
er  spracli :  "  Der  rede  ist  gnuoc 

getan  ! " 
Zeliaut  liiez  er  si  uf  stan, 
daz  si  sich  "wol  kleite 
unte  au  leite 
daz  beste  gewalte, 
daz  si  lender  haete. 
Sinen  knaben  er  seite, 
daz  man  im  sin  ros  bereite 
und  ir  pliiirt  der  frowen  Eniten  ; 

er  spracli,  er  wolde  riteu 

uz  kurzwilen  : 

des  begunden  si  do  ilen. 


"V\Tieu  lie  the  story  beard 
Wbat  was  her  spoken  word, 
Enough  of  sjieech  !"  then  said 

he. 
He  bade  her  rise,  get  ready, 
And  dress  herself  with  care 
In  garments  fair. 
Donning  the  best  array 
That  in  her  presses  lay. 
The  page  he  bade  with  speed 
Prepare  his  own  strong  steed, 
Dame  Enid's   palfrey  there  be- 
side ; 
He  said  that  he  would  ride 
For  pastime  far  away  : 
So  forward  hastened  they. 


Tennyson's  "  Enid  " : 

"  At  last  it  chanced  that  on  a  summer  mora 
(They  sleeping  each  by  other)  the  new  sun 
Beat  thro'  the  blindless  casement  of  the  room, 
And  heated  the  strong  warrior  in  his  dreams  : 
Who,  moving,  cast  the  coverlet  aside. 
And  bared  the  knotted  column  of  his  threat. 
The  massive  square  of  his  heroic  breast. 
And  arms  on  which  the  standing  muscle  sloped. 
As  slopes  a  wild  brook  o'er  a  little  stone. 
Running  too  vehemently  to  break  upon  it. 
And  Enid  woke  and  sat  beside  the  couch. 
Admiring  him,  and  thought  within  herself, 
Was  ever  man  so  grandly  made  as  he  ? 
Then,  like  a  shadow,  past  the  people's  talk 
And  accusation  of  uxoriousness 
Across  her  mind,  and  bowing  over  him. 
Low  to  her  own  heart,  piteously  she  said  : 


"  '0  noble  breast,  and  all-puissant  arms. 
Am  I  the  cause,  I  the  poor  cause  that  men 
Reproach  you,  saying  all  your  force  is  gone? 


72  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

I  am  the  cause,  because  I  dare  not  speak 
And  tell  him  what  I  think  and  what  they  say. 
And  yet  I  hate  that  he  should  linger  here  ; 
I  cannot  love  my   ord  and  not  his  name. 
Far  liever  had  I  gird  his  harness  on  him, 
And  ride  with  him  to  battle  and  stand  by. 
And  watch  his  mightful  hand  striking  great  blows 
At  caitiffs  and  at  wrongers  of  the  world. 
Far  better  were  I  laid  in  the  dark  earth. 
Not  hearing  any  more  his  noble  voice, 
Not  to  be  folded  more  in  these  dear  arms, 
And  darkened  from  the  high  light  in  his  eyes. 
Than  that  my  lord  thro'  me  should  suffer  shame. 
Am  I  so  bold,  and  could  I  so  stand  by, 
•     And  see  my  dear  lord  wounded  in  the  strife. 
Or  may  be  pierced  to  death  before  mine  eyes. 
And  yet  not  dare  to  tell  him  what  I  think, 
And  how  men  slur  him,  saying  all  his  force 
Is  melted  into  mere  effeminacy  ? 
0  me,  I  fear  that  I  am  no  true  wife. ' 

"Half  inwardly,  half  audibly  she  spoke. 
And  the  strong  passion  in  her  made  her  weep 
True  tears  upon  his  broad  and  naked  breast. 
And  these  awoke  him,  and  by  great  mischance 
He  heard  but  fragments  of  her  later  words. 
And  that  she  feared  she  was  not  a  true  wife. 
And  then  he  thought,  '  In  spite  of  all  my  care. 
For  all  my  pains,  poor  man,  for  all  my  pains. 
She  is  not  faithful  to  me,  and  I  see  her 
Weeping  for  some  gay  knight  in  Arthur's  hall.' 
Then  tho'  he  loved  and  reverenced  her  too  much 
To  dream  she  could  be  guilty  of  foul  act. 
Right  thro'  his  manful  breast  darted  the  pang 
That  makes  a  man,  in  the  sweet  face  of  her  , 
Whom  he  loves  most,  lonely  and  miserable. 
At  this  he  liurl'd  his  huge  limbs  out  of  bed, 
And  shook  his  drowsy  squire  awake  and  cried, 
'  My  charger  and  her  palfrey,'  then  to  her, 
'  I  will  ride  forth  into  the  wilderness  ; 


THE  MEDn^VAL  EPICS.  73 

For  tho'  it  seems  my  si^urs  are  yet  to  win, 
I  have  not  fall'n  so  low  as  some  would  wish. 
And  you,  put  on  your  worst  and  meanest  dress 
And  ride  with  me.'     And  Enid  ask'd,  amaz'd, 
'  If  Enid  errs,  let  Enid  learn  her  fault.' 
But  he,  '  I  charge  you,  ask  not,  but  obey,'  " 

Tliese  passages  illustrate  not  only  tlie  common  source 
from  wliicli  both  poets  derived  their  material,  but  also 
the  different  manner  of  treatment  between  a  poet  of  the 
twelfth  century  and  one  of  the  nineteenth.  Tennyson 
has  endeavored  to  imitate  the  old  epic  simplicity — • 
rather  the  Greek,  it  is  true,  than  the  German  or  Anglo- 
Saxon — but  he  cannot  escape  the  atmosphere  of  our 
day.  As  compared  with  Hartmann  von  Aiie,  he  has  less 
of  simj)le,  direct,  natural  narration,  and  much  more  both 
of  description  and  of  subjective  st  jdy  of  character. 

I  will  pass  over  "  Gregory  of  the  Piock,"  founded  on  an 
obscure  legend  concerning  Pope  Gregory  YII.,  which 
will  not  well  bear  repeating,  and  come  to  the  ^^  Anne 
Heinrich.'^  Here,  again,  the  material  has  been  used  by  a 
living  poet,  and  you  all  are — or  ought  to  be — familiar 
with  it.  The  author  is  Longfellow,  and  the  poem  is  the 
"Golden  Legend."  Listead  of  Heinrich  von  Aue,  Long- 
fellow calls  the  hero  Prince  Henry  of  Hoheneck,  and 
gives  him  "Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  as  a  friend.  He 
takes  only  the  thread  of  the  story  from  Hartmann — the 
incurable  disease,  the  self-sacrifice  of  the  maiden,  the 
journey  to  Salerno,  and  the  happy  termination  of  the 
story  in  her  marriage  with  the  prince,  and  has  so  en- 
4 


74  GEUMAK  LITERATURE. 

riched  and  adorned  it  with  the  fairest  suggestions  of  his 
own  genius  that  it  becomes  a  new  creation.  Certainly 
no  more  exquisitely  finished  and  harmonious  poetical 
work  has  been  written  in  this  country  than  the  "  Golden 
Legend." 

Hartmann's  last  epic,  "Jit'em,"  is  taken  from  the  tradi- 
tions of  King  Arthur  and  the  Kovind  Table.  The  name 
Iwe'in  is  the  Welsh  Evan,  the  Eussian  Ivan,  the  English 
John.  The  poem,  except  toward  its  close,  is  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  adventures  of  the  Knight  Iwein,  as  related  in 
the  Welsh  Mabinogion.  This,  no  less  than  his  other 
epics,  bears  the  stamp  of  elegant  mediocrit}-.  His  verse 
is  carefully  constructed,  the  separate  episodes  are  often 
well  narrated,  but  the  characters  are  not  consistent  nor 
properly  sustained,  and  the  poem  becomes  wearisome 
to  one  accustomed  to  better  models. 

Nevertheless,  among  the  German  critics  there  are 
very  different  verdicts  pronounced  upon  Hartmann  von 
Aue.  Some  consider  him  an  undoubted  master,  com- 
bining sentiment,  power  and  purity  of  style :  others 
condemn  him  for  a  total  lack  of  high  poetic  instinct. 
Grimm,  curiously  enough,  has  expressed  himself  on 
both  sides  of  the  question  in  different  works.  If  we 
avoid  either  extreme,  yet  place  him  decidedly  below  both 
Gottfried  and  Wolfram,  I  think  we  shall  come  nearer 
fixing  his  true  place.  But  his  importance  in  his  age 
cannot  be  fairly  estimated  by  our  modern  literary  stand- 
ards.    The  very  smoothness  and  polish,  which  become 


THE  MEDIEVAL  EPICS.  75 

SO  wearisome  to  us  wlien  they  are  not  penetrated  with 
the  presence  of  a  strong  informing  spirit,  may  have  been 
an  agency  of  culture,  as  well  as  a  charm,  to  his  contem- 
poraries. 

Of  Gottfried  von  Strasburg,  we  only  know  that  he 
was  probably  a  native  of  the  city  for  which  he  is 
named  ;  that  he  was  not  of  noble  family,  but  well  edu- 
cated, and  apparently  in  good  circumstances,  and  that 
he  must  have  died,  still  comparatively  young,  before 
1210.  One  of  the  old  manuscripts  has  a  portrait  which 
represents  him  as  a  young  man  with  long,  curling  locks, 
but  its  authenticity  cannot  be  relied  upon.  He  was 
perhaps  a  personal  friend  of  Hartmann  von  Aue  :  it  is 
not  known  that  he  ever  met  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach. 

Gottfried  also  drew  the  subject  of  his  one  epic,  *' Tris- 
tan,'' from  English  and  French  sources.  It  had  even 
been  used  before  him  by  a  German  poet,  Eilhart  von 
Oberg,  who,  some  thirty  years  before  him,  wrote  a  poem 
called  "Tristan''  in  the  Low-German  language.  Like  the 
"Erek"  and  "Arme  Heinrich"  of  Hartmann,  you  will  find 
the  substance  of  the  story  in  poems  by  two  living  authors 
— in  Tennyson's  Llyll  of  "  The  Last  Tournament,"  and  in 
the  "  Tristram  and  Iseult "  of  Matthew  Arnold.  The  plot, 
in  its  general  outline,  has  a  resemblance  to  the  story  of 
Lancelot  and  Guinevere,  but  it  is  more  tragic,  because 
the  element  of  magic  is  introduced,  and  the  final  sorrow 
is  thus  not  the  consequence  of  voluntary  sin.  It  is,  in 
fact,  one  of  the  most  touching  and  beautiful  of  all  those 


76  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

purely  romantic  legends  whicli  were  so  popular  over  all 
Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages.  None  of  tlie  charac- 
ters are  historical :  it  seems  to  have  had  no  original 
connection  with  the  Arthurian  stories,  although  it  was 
afterward  attached  to  them,  and  its  invention  is  ascribed 
to  some  Celtic  minstrel  of  Brittany. 

The  outline  of  the  story  is  so  simple  that  it  may  be 
told  in  a  few  words.  Mark,  the  king  of  Cornwall,  who 
resided  at  the  castle  of  Tintagil,  so  famous  as  the  resi- 
dence of  Uther,  the  father  of  Arthur,  had  a  nephew, 
Tristan  or  Tristram,  who  was  the  most  gallant  and  ac- 
complished knight  of  his  court.  The  king  of  Ireland, 
having  promised  the  hand  of  his  daughter  Iseult,  Is(")t, 
or  Isolde,  as  the  name  is  differently  written,  to  King 
Mark,  Tristan  was  sent  to  bring  the  bride  to  Cornwall. 
On  leaving  Ireland,  Iseult's  mother  gave  her  daughter's 
attendant  lady,  Brangaene  by  name,  a  love-potion  to  be 
secretly  administered  to  her  and  her  royal  bridegroom 
on  the  day  of  their  nuptials,  in  order  to  secure  their 
wedded  bliss.  But  the  magic  elixir  was  administered, 
by  mistake,  to  Tristan  and  Iseult,  during  the  voyage 
from  Ireland  to  Cornwall.  This  fixed  the  destiny  of 
both  during  the  remainder  of  their  lives.  The  spell 
compelled  them  to  love  each  other,  though  separated 
by  holy  vows.  The  truth  was  soon  discovered  at  the 
Court  of  Cornwall,  and  Tristan,  to  avoid  his  uncle's 
wrath,  went  to  Brittany,  where  he  met  another  Iseult — 
she  is  sometimes  called  Iseult  of  Brittany  and  some- 


THE  MEDIAEVAL   EPICS.  77 

times  Iseult  of  the  White  Hands — whom  he  married, 
more  out  of  gratitude  than  love.  But  the  infection  oi 
the  magic  potion  was  still  in  his  blood :  he  wandered 
forth,  tormented  by  his  passion,  and  became  the  hero 
of  many  daring  exploits  which  made  his  name  famous 
in  Britain.  At  last,  sick,  worn,  and  wounded  nigh  unto 
death  he  returned  to  Iseult  of  the  White  Hands,  who  is 
represented  as  a  sweet,  forbearing  and  forgiving  woman. 
Her  nursing  was  of  no  avail ;  and  a  messenger  was  sent 
to  bring  Queen  Iseult  of  Cornwall,  who  alone  could  heal 
him.  She  fled  from  King  Mark's  Court,  crossed  to  Brit- 
tany in  a  wild  storm,  and  reached  Tristan's  castle  just 
in  time  to  see  him  die.  Her  heart  broke,  and  she  sank 
dead  beside  his  corj^se.  Another  version,  which  I  pre- 
fer not  to  believe — in  fact,  refuse  to  believe — states  that 
the  vessel  which  was  to  bring  Iseult  of  Cornwall  was  to 
hoist  Avhite  sails  on  returning,  if  she  was  on  board  ;  but 
black  sails,  if  it  came  without  her.  Iseult  of  Brittany 
bribed  the  captain  to  hoist  black  sails,  in  either  case. 
When  the  ship  was  seen  afar,  and  the  color  of  the  sails 
was  reported  to  Tristan,  he  died  in  disappointment 
and  despair :  Iseult  of  Cornwall  found  only  his  dead 
body.  King  Mark,  who  had  learned  the  story  of  the 
magic  potion,  had  them  buried  side  by  side.  He  planted 
over  Iseult  a  rose,  and  over  Tristan  a  grape-vine,  which 
twined  themselves  around  each  other  as  they  grew,  and 
could  not  be  separated.  It  is  curious  how  this  last 
particular  has  lived  to  this  day  in  the  Ballad  of  Lord 


78  OEBMAN  LITERATURE. 

Lovel,  wliicli  is  still  sung  T)y  the  country  people  of  Eng- 
land : 

"  And  out  of  licr  breast  there  grew  a  red  rose, 
And  out  of  his  breast  a  brier." 

This  is,  of  course,  only  the  slightest  framework  of  the 
story.  Gottfried  is  a  more  daring  and  original  poet  than 
Hartmami ;  in  the  scenes  and  ej^isodes,  from  first  to 
last,  he  allows  his  invention  full  play,  and  so  enriches 
and  extends  the  material  that,  although  his  poem  con- 
tains thirty  books  and  twenty  thousand  lines,  it  was  ter- 
minated by  his  death  when  only  two-thirds  had  been 
written.  Both  the  choice  of  the  subject  and  the  man- 
ner of  treatment  give  evidence  of  true  literary  feeling 
and  skill,  but  not  of  that  grand,  independent  disregard 
of  former  models  or  prevalent  fashions  which  marks 
the  pathfinder.  He  took  the  forms  which  he  found, 
with  all  their  monotony,  their  interminable  difiuseness 
and  tolerance  of  digressions.  They  became  purer  and 
stronger  in  his  hands ;  the  great  mass  constantly 
moves  with  life,  but  it  still  lacks  that  harmony  and  mu- 
tual dependence  of  parts,  that  organic  unity,  which 
every  great  literary  work  must  possess.  There  are 
many  passages  which  may  be  read  with  delight,  but 
the  perusal  of  the  whole  work  becomes  a  rather  serious 
task. 

"  Tristan''^  commences  with  an  Eingang,  or  Introduction, 
in  which  the  author  explains  his  reasons  for  writing  the 
poem,  and  the  service  which  he  thereby  hopes  to  ren- 


THE  MEDIEVAL  EPICS.  79 

der  to  tlie  noble  and  loving  among  men.     In  the  very 
first  stanza  we  recognize  liis  characteristic  style  : 

Gedaelite  man  ir  ze  guote  nilit.         If  we  the   good  should    never 

heed, 
von  den   der    werlde    gnot  ge-       That  haps   on   earth,  as   is  de- 

schiht,  creed, 

so  waere  ez  allez  alse  niht,  Then  were  it  nothing  worth,  in- 

deed, 
swaz    guotes    in  der  werlt  ge-       That   any   good   should  be   de- 
schiht.  creed. 

Another  stanza,  quite  as  terse  and  sound,  is  : 

Tiur'  unde  wert  ist  mir  der  man.  Dear  and  worthy  is  the  man 

derguot  and  iibel  betrahten  kan.  Who  good  and  evil  study  can  : 

der  mich  uud  iegelichen  man  Who  me  and  every  other  man 

nach    sinem     werde     erkennen  At  his  true  value  measure  can. 
kan. 

The  first  book  describes  the  loves  of  Prince  Reivalin, 
the  father  of  Tristan,  and  Blanchefloeur,  his  mother,  the 
sister  of  King  Mark.  Their  meeting  in  the  spring- 
time reminds  us  of  the  similar  scene  in  the  story  of 
Lancelot  and  Guinevere. 

There  is  such  a  charming  brightness  and  freshness  in 
the  lines,  that  I  must  quote  the  passage  : 

diu  senfte  slieze  sumerzit  The  soft  and  tender  summer  air 

diu  haete  ir  siieze  numllezekeit         Disturbed   the  summer    idlesse 

there, 
mit  sliezem  flize  an  si  geleit.  And  woke  sweet  industry,  and 

fair, 
diu  kleinen  waltvogclin.  The   little    wood-birds    singing 

clear, 
diu  des  oren  frijude  solen  sin.  It  should  be  such  a  joy  to  hear. 


80 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


bluomen,  gras,  loup  iindc  bluot 

unci  swaz  dein  ougen  sanfte  tuot 

und  edele  lierze  erfrtiuwen  sol, 

des  was  dlu  sumerouwe  vol  : 

mau  vant  da,  swaz  man  wolte, 

daz  der  miie  bringen  solte  : 

den  scliate  bi  der  sunnen, 

die  linden  bi  dem  brunnen, 
die  senflen  linden  winde, 
die  Markes  ingesinde 
sin  wesen  engegene  maclieten. 
die  liebten  bluomen  lacheten 

uz  dem  betouwt'tem  grase. 

des    meien    friunt,    der  grliene 

wase, 
der  liaete  uz  bluomen  ane  geleit 
so  wunneclicliin  sumerkleit, 
daz  si  den  lieben  gesten 
in  ir  ougen  widerglesten. 
dill  siieze  boumbluot  sacli  den 

man 
so  rehte  suoze  lacbende  an, 
daz   sicli  daz   lierze  und  al  der 

miiot 
wider  an  die  lacbende  bluot 

mit  spilnden  ougen  machete 
und  ir  allez  wider  lachete. 
daz  senfte  vogelgedoene, 
das  siieze,  daz  sehoone, 
daz  oren  unde  muote 
vil  dicke  kumet  ze  guote. 


Blossoms,  grass,  and  leaves  on 

trees. 
And  what  tlie  eye  may  gently 

please. 
And  joy   to   noble   hearts    may 

yield. 
Of    that  was  the  summer-mea- 
dow filled. 
All   one   wished    was    gathered 

then 
Of  what  the  May-time  brings  to 

men  : 
Shade,   when    the    sun    would 

sting ; 
Lindens  beside  the  spring  ; 
And  soft,  sweet  winds  that  sent 
Where  Mark's  retainers  went, 
A  fresh  delight  to  meet  them  : 
And  the  bright  buds  laughed  to 

greet  them, 
In  the  dewy  grass  that  day  ; 
And  the  green  turf,  the  friend 

of  May, 
^yove  from  its  own  loveliness 
So  delightful  a  summer  dress 
That  in  the  guests'  glad  eyes 
'Twas  mirrored  in  fairer  wise. 
The  bloom  of  trees  looked  down 

on  men 
So  openly,  sweetly  smiling  then, 
That  heart  and  mind  and  senses 

lent 
The  dancing   blood   their  light 

content, 
And  forever  made  reply 
In  the  light  of  the  merry  eye. 
All  notes  the  birds  repeat, — 
So  beautiful,  so  sweet, — 
That  unto  heart  and  ear 
So  goodly  'tis  to  hear. 


THE  MEBI^m^AL  EPICS.  81 

daz  fulte  da  berc  unde  tal.  Rang  there  from  hill  and  dale, 

dill  si'ielige  nahtegal,  And  the  blissful  nightingale — 

daz  liebe  slieze  vogelin.  The  dear,  sweet  birdliug  she 

daz  iemer  slieze  niiieze  sin,  That  ever  sweet  shall  be, 

daz  kallete  uz  der  bliiete  From  out  the  blossoms  trolled 

mit  solher  iibermiiete,  So  clear  and  over-bold, 

daz  da  mane  edele  herze  van  That  many  a   noble   heart  that 

heard, 
f rciud'  unde  hohen  muot  gewan.        Took   joy   and   hops   from    the 

happy  bird. 

I  have  not  space  to  describe  the  wealth  of  pictur- 
esque incidents  with  which  Gottfried  has  amplified  the 
story.  Tristan  is  brought  up  as  the  son  of  Rual  in 
Brittany,  is  carried  ofi"  by  the  Norwegians,  shipwrecked 
on  the  coast  of  Cornwall,  and  becomes,  as  a  boy,  hunter 
and  minstrel  at  the  Court  of  King  Mark.  Eual  wanders 
over  the  world  to  find  him,  comes  finally  to  Tintngil  and 
discloses  his  relationship  to  the  king,  after  which  there 
are  many  adventures  before  Iseult  enters  upon  the 
scene.  The  last  book  describes  Tristan's  wooing  of 
Iseult  with  the  "White  Hands  in  Brittany.  He  sings  at 
the  Court  of  the  old  Duke  Jovelin,  her  father,  a  pas- 
sionate song  with  the  refrain,  in  the  French  of  that  day  : 

A  \ 

"  Isot,  ma  drue,  Isot  m'amie, 
en  vus  ma  mort,  en  vus  ma  vie  ! " 

thinking  in  his  heart  only  of  Iseult  of  Ireland,  while 
the  ladies  and  knights  imagine  that  he  is  celebrating 
her  of  the  White  Hands. 

Among  other  quaint  and  curious  episodes,  the  twenty- 
fifth  book  is  taken  up  with  the  account  of  a  little  dog 
4* 


82 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


named  Petitcriu,  which  a  fairy  in  Avalon  had  presented 
to  Gilan,  the  Duke  of  Wales.  The  hair  of  the  dog 
shimmered  in  all  bright  colors,  and  around  its  neck 
there  was  a  bell,  the  sound  of  which  banished  all  sor- 
row from  the  heart  of  him  who  heard  it.  Tristan  wins 
Petitcriu  from  Duke  Gilan,  and  sends  him  to  Iseult, 
whose  sorrow  for  her  absent  lover  is  instantly  soothed 
when  she  hears  the  bell ;  but,  remembering  that  Tristan 
is  wandering  alone  and  unconsoled,  she  takes  the  bell 
from  the  dog's  neck  and  throws  it  into  the  sea. 

I  find  no  better  specimen  of  Gottfried's  narrative  style 
than  the  passage  where  Tristan  and  Iseult  accidentally 
drink  the  love-potion : 


Nu  man  gelante  in  eine  habe  : 
nu  gie  daz  vole  almeiste  abe 

durch  banekie  iiz  an  daz  lant ; 

nu  gienc  oucb  Tristant  ze  liant 

begriiezen  unde  bescbouwen 
die  liehten  sine  vrouwen. 
Und  als  er  zuozir  nider  gesaz, 
unt  redeten  diz  unde  daz 

von  ir  beider  dingen, 

er  bat  ini  trinken  bringen. 

Nune  was  da  niemen  inne 
an  die  kiineginne, 
wan  kleiniu  juncfrciuwelin  ; 
der  einez  spracb  :    ' '  Sebt,  bie 
stat  win 


Now  tbey  a  barbor  came  unto, 
Wbere    nearly   all   tbe  vessel's 

crew 
Went  fortb  to  land,  on  pastime 

bent ; 
And   Tristan,  also,  straigbtway 

went 
To  greet,  with  bliss  o'erladen, 
Tbe  brightness  of  tbe  maiden. 
And  as  he  thus  beside  her  sat, 
And  they  had  si^oken  of  this  and 

that, 
Of  things  concerning  both. 
Said  he  :  "  To  drink  I  were  not 

loath." 
Now  was  there  no  one  there. 
Beside  the  Princess  fair, 
But  one  small  waiting-maid  : 
"  The  wine  is  here,"  she  said. 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  EPICS. 


83 


in  disem  vilzzeline." 

Nein  !  ezii  was  niht  mit  wine, 

doch  ez  im  geliche  waere, 

ez  was  diu  waernde  swaere, 
dill  endelose  herzenot, 

von  der  si  beide  lagen  tot. 
Nu  was  ab  ir  daz  unrekant : 
si  stuout  uf  unt  gie  liin  zo  liant, 

da  daz  tranc  und  daz  glas 
verborgen  unt  belialten  was. 

Tristande,  ir  meister,  bot  si  daz  ; 

A 

er  bot  Isote  vurbaz  : 

si  tranc  ungerne  xiud  ilberlanc, 

unt  gap   do   Tristand,  unde    er 

tranc, 
unt  wiinten  beide,  ez  waere  wun. 
le  mitten  gienc  oucli  Brangaen 

in, 
unde  erkande  daz  glas, 

unt  sach  wol,  waz  der  rede  was. 

Si  ersclirac  so  sere  unde  erkam, 
daz  ez  ir  alle  ir  kraft  benam, 
unt  wart  relit  als  ein  tote  var. 

Mit  totem  lierzen  gie  si  dar  : 

si  nam  daz  leide  veige  vaz, 

si  truog  ez  dannen  unt  warf  daz 

in  den  tobenden  wilden  se. 
Owe    mir    arm  en,"    sprach   se,    ' 
"owe ! 


"  AVitliin  this  flagon  fine." 
All,  no  !  It  was  not  wine  : 
Though  wine's  hue  it  might  bor- 
row, 
'Twas  filled  with  coming  sorrow. 
With   endless  heart-pain  brim- 
ming high, 
Whence  both  at  last  must  die. 
But  she  thereof  was  ignorant : 
She  rose,  and  straightway  thith- 
er Avent, 
Innocent  and  unchidden, 
Where  glass  and  drink  were  hid- 
den ; 
Brouglit  to  Tristiin,  her  master 

brave. 
Who  first  to  Iseult  gave. 
She  first  refused,  then  drank  and 

laughed, 
And  gave    to   Tristan,    and  he 

quaffed  : 
They  both  imagined,  it  was  wine. 
Then  came  Braugaeue,  saw  the 

shine 
Of  that  bright  flagon,  knew  it 

well. 
And    did    forbodc    the    coming 

spell. 
So  great  her  terror  was,  that  she 
Lost  force  and  senses  utterly. 
And    she    became    as    are    the 

dead. 
With  deathly  heart  then  forth 

she  sped. 
That  fatal  flagon  of  all  the  world 
Took  with  her,  threw,  and  down- 
ward hurh'd 
Into  the  wild  and  raging  sea. 
'  Ah,  woe  !"  she  cried,  "  O,  mis- 
erable me ! 


84 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


daz  icli  zer  wcrldo  ie  wart  goborn ! 
Ich  arme,  wie  lian  ich  verloru 
mill  ere  uiit  mine  triuwe  ! 
Daz  ez  Got  iemer  riuwe, 
daz  ich  an  dise  reise  ie  kam, 
daz  mich  der  tot  do  nilit  enuam, 

d6  icli  an  dise  veige  vart 
Mit  Isote  ie  bescheiden  wart  ! 
Owe  Tristan  unde  Isot  ! 

diz  iranc  ist  iuwer  beider  tot  !" 

Nu  daz  dill  maget  iind  der  man, 

Isot  unde  Tristan, 

den  tranc  getrunken  beide,  sa 

was  oucb  der  werlde  unmuoze 

da, 
Minne,  aller  herzcn  lagerin, 

unt  sleicli  zir  beider  lierzen  in. 

E  sis  ie  wurden  gewar, 

do  stiez  se  ir  sigevanen  dar, 

unt  zocb  si  beide  in  ir  gewalt : 

si  wurden  eiu  und  einvalt, 

die  zwei  unt  zwivalt  waren  e  : 

si  zwei  enwaren  do  nilit  me 
widerwertic  under  in  : 
Isote  haz,  der  was  do  bin. 
Dill  suonerinne  Minne, 
dill  haete  ir  beider  sinne 
von  hazze  also  gereinet, 
mit  liebe  also  vereinet, 


That  ever  to  the  world  was  bom ! 
0,  wretched  me,  how  am  I  shorn 
Of  honor  and  fidelity  ! 
Now  God's  great  pity  granted  be. 
That  ever  I  this  journey  made, — 
That  death  had  not  the  purpose 

stayed. 
Or  ever  on  this  voyage  of  woe 
With  Iseult  I  should  go  ! 
Iseult       and       Tristan  —  fatal 

draught ! 
'Tis  wee  and  death  to  both  that 
quaffed  ! " 
Now  that  the  maiden  and  the 
man. 
Fair  Iseult  and  Tristan, 
Both  drank  the  drink,  upon  them 

pressed 
What  gives  the  world  such  sore 

unrest, — 
Love,  skilled  in  sly  and  prowling 

arts. 
And  swiftly  crept  in  both  their 

hearts  : 
So,  ere  of  him  they  were  aware. 
Stood    his    victorious     banners 

there. 
He    drew  them    both  into    his 

power : 
One  and  single  were  they  that 

hour 
That  two  and  twofold  were  be- 
fore. 
They  twain  were  verily  no  more 
Opposed  thence,  under  his  sway  ; 
For  Iseult's  hate  had  flown  away. 
The  troubled  senses  of  the  two 
Sweet  Love,  the  Expiator,  knew. 
Made  clean  of  hate  that  blighted. 
Gave  love  that  so  united. 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  EPICS. 


85 


daz  ietweder  dem  anderu  was 
durliluter  als  ein  spigelglas. 

Si  haeten  beide  ein  lierze  ; 

ir  swaere  was  sin  smerze, 
sin  smerze  was  ir  swaere  ; 
si  waren  beide  ein  baere 
an  liebe  unde  an  leide, 
unt  bdlen  sicb  doch  beide, 
unt  tete  daz  zwivel  unde  scliam 
si  scbamte  sich,  er  tete  alsam  ; 

zi  zwivelte  an  im,  er  an  ir. 


That  either  to  the  other  was 
More  crystal-clear  than  mirror- 
glass. 
Both   had    one    heart    between 

them, 
Her  pain  became  his  sorrow, 
His  sorrow  was  her  pain  ; 
And  both  were  fondly  fain 
Suffering  to  share,  and  bliss  ; 
Yet  hid  the  sense  of  this 
And  felt  both  doubt  and  shame  : 
She  was   abashed,   and   he  the 

same  ; 
He    doubted   her,    she   doubted 
him. 


The  clearness  and  purity  of  tlie  language  will  make 
themselves  felt,  even  by  one  who  is  only  slightly  fa- 
miliar with  the  German  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Of  all  the 
Minnesingers  and  courtly  epic  poets,  I  find  that  Gott- 
fried and  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  offer  the  least 
difl&culty  to  the  modern  reader, — for  the  same  reason 
that  Goldsmith's  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield  "  is  the  English 
book  most  easily  read  by  a  German:  they  combine 
elegance  of  style  and  the  nicest  choice  of  epithets  with 
the  greatest  simplicity  and  fluency.  To  one  already  ac- 
quainted with  German,  the  poets  of  the  Middle  Ages 
are  more  raj)idly  understood  through  the  ear  than 
through  the  eye,  because  the  rules  of  spelling  have 
been  varied  much  more,  during  the  last  five  or  six 
hundred  years,  than  those  of  pronunciation.  The 
latter,  in  fact,  still  exists  as  a  vulgar  dialect,  in  the 
mountain  regions  of  Central  Germany.     I  have  quoted, 


86  0ER3IAN  LITERATURE. 

purj)osely,  tlie  original  text  instead  of  the  transla- 
tions into  Modern  German,  because  I  tliink  a  little 
attention  will  enable  you  to  understand  it  nearly  as  well, 
and  sometliing  of  its  peculiar  racy  flavor  will  always  be 
felt,  even  when  not  entirely  understood. 

If  you  are  familiar  with  Tennyson's  poem  of  "  The 
Last  Tournament,"  in  his  "  Idylls  of  the  King,"  I  beg 
you  to  notice  the  violence  he  has  done  to  the  original 
legend.  He  quite  omits  the  episode  of  the  magic  love- 
potion,  and  presents  Tristan  and  Iseult  to  us  as  a  pair 
of  common  sinners.  It  is  this  very  magic  spell — the 
equivalent  of  the  Fate  of  the  Greek  tragedies — which 
moves  our  deepest  sympathies,  and  ennobles  the  two 
characters.  Tristan  cannot  escape  his  devotion,  in  the 
legend ;  he  is  made  faithful  by  a  fatal  spell ;  but  Tenny- 
son makes  him  sing :  "  Free  love ;  free  field ;  we  love 
but  while  we  may !  " 

Gottfried  von  Strasburg  certainly  possesses,  in  a  very 
high  degree,  the  talent  of  poetic  narrative.  We  may 
tire  of  his  interminable  details,  when  reading  several 
books  of  ''Tristan"  connectedly;  but  we  may  open  the 
work  anywhere,  and  we  strike  at  once  upon  life,  move- 
ment, brightness.  The  uniformity  of  the  short  iambic 
measure,  which  allows  little  variety  of  cadence,  is  not 
favorable  to  a  long  epic  poem  ;  but  the  authors  of  that 
age  seem  to  have  known  only  this  measure  and  a  rather 
rough  alexandrine.  The  iambic  pentameter  apjiears  in 
their  lyrics,  and  moves  with   both  sweetness  and  dig- 


THE  MEDIEVAL  EPICS  87 

nity ;  yet  it  never  occurred  to  them  to  use  it  iu  narra- 
tive poetry. 

I  shall  last  notice  him  whom  I  consider  the  greatest 
of  the  courtly  minstrels  —  "Wolfram  von  Eschenbach. 
Although  he  was  a  noble,  we  know  less  of  his  personal 
history  than  of  that  of  the  peasant  Walther.  The  date 
of  his  birth  is  unknown  ;  even  the  place  is  uncertain,  al- 
though the  village  of  Eschenbach,  in  Eranconia — some 
fifty  miles  west  of  Nuremberg — has  been  fixed  upon  by 
most  scholars.  He  was  wholly  uneducated — could  not 
even  read  or  write ; — the  materials  of  his  epics  were 
read  to  him  by  others,  and  his  own  verses  were  dictated 
to  scribes.  He  lived  for  many  years  at  the  court  of  the 
Landgraf  Hermann  of  Thuringia,  in  the  Wartburg,  and 
after  the  latter's  death  is  supposed  to  have  been  driven 
away  by  the  severe  piety  of  his  son  Ludwig  and  St. 
Elizabeth  of  Hungary.  He  died  somewhere  about  the 
year  1230. 

When,  in  reading  Gottfried  von  Strasburg's  "Tristan," 
I  came  upon  the  passage  in  the  eighth  book,  where  he 
speaks  of  Hartmann  von  Aue,  how  he  "through  and 
through  colors  and  adorns  a  story,  how  clear  and  pure 
is  the  crystal  current  of  his  words," — followed  by  a 
reference  to  W^olfram  von  Eschenbach,  as  "  the  inventor 
of  all  strange  things,  hunter  of  wild  stories," — I  could 
not  reconcile  the  unfriendly  words  with  the  place  and 
fame  of  the  two  authors.  There  is  no  probability  that 
they  ever  met,  or  some  personal  enmity  of  Gottfried 


88 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


miglit  explain  the  passage.  But,  after  more  carefully 
examining  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach's  epics,  I  am  satis- 
fied that  the  radical  difference  between  the  poetic  C(m- 
stitutions  of  the  two  men,  together  with  the  despotism 
of  conventional  tastes  in  their  day,  furnish  a  sufficient 
explanation.  If  you  take  the  two  men — one  blond, 
blue-eyed,  joyous,  graceful,  sympathetic,  and  one  dark, 
brooding,  with  deep-set,  inscrutable  eyes,  irregular  in 
his  movements,  abstracted  and  proud — and  put  them 
into  garments  of  the  same  stuff  and  the  same  cut,  you 
will  have  an  illustration  of  the  difference  between  Gott- 
fried's ^^ Tristan"  and  Wolfram's  "Parzival."  The  change 
of  spirit  and  atmosphere  is  so  marked,  that  one  need  not 
be  a  critical  scholar  to  feel  it.  I  have  quoted  the  open- 
ing lines  of  the  former  epic  :  now  take  the  opening  of 
"Parzival " : 


1st  zwivel  lierzen  nahgebur, 
daz  muoz  cler  sele  werden  sur  ? 
gesmaeliet  unde  gezieret 
ist,  swa  sicli  parrieret 
unverzaget  mannes  muot, 
als  ag-elestern  varwe  tuot. 
der  mac  dennocli  wesen  geil, 
wand'  an  ime  sint  beidin  teil 
des  liimeles  und  der  belle, 
der  iiustaete  geselle 
bat  die  swarzen  varwe  gar, 
und  wirt  ocb  nab  der  vinster  var 

so  babet  sicb  an  die  blanken 

der  mit  staOten  gedanken. 


Is  doubt  a  neigbbor  to  tbe  beart, 
Tbat  to  tbe  soul  must  be  a  smart? 
Disgrace  and  bonor  bide 
As  equals,  side  by  side. 
In  tbe  strong  man  and  bold. 
Like  magpie's  bue  twofold. 
Yet  may  be  joyful  be, 
Wben  unto  botb  sides  free, 
To  beaven  and  to  bell. 
But  wben  be's  false  and  fell, 
Tben  black's  bis  bue  in  verity. 
And  near  to  darkness  standetb 

be: 
So    be    wbo    steadfast    is,  and 

rigbt. 
Holds  only  to  tbe  color  wbite. 


THE  MEDLEVAL  EPICS.  89 

diz  fliegende  bispel  This  flying  parable,  I  wis 

ist  tumben  liuten  gar  ze  snel,  Too  fast  for  silly  people  is  ; 

sine  mugen's  niht  erdenken  ;  They  cannot  come  the  meaning 

nigh, 
wand'  ez  kan  vor  in  wenken  Since  it  before  their  minds  will 

fly. 

rehte  alsam  ein  schelles  hase.  Even  as  flies  a  frightened  hare. 


Here  we  feel,  in  tlie  very  first  words,  tlie  presence  of 
a  metaphysical  or  rather  psychological  element :  the 
sense  is  compact,  and  the  lines  move  as  if  with  a  different 
step,  although  the  measure  is  the  same  as  in  '^Tristan.'" 
There  are  none  of  those  sparkling  epithets  which  entice 
us  on  fi'om  point  to  point ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
feel  the  touch  of  a  grave  and  lofty  intelligence,  to  whom 
the  thought  is  more  than  its  external  form.  In  Wolfram 
the  poetic  nature  seems  to  move  forward  centuries,  at 
a  single  stride ;  but  the  poetic  art  fails  to  keep  pace 
with  it.  Even  the  language  no  longer  seems  the  same  : 
the  construction  is  unnecessarily  forced,  uneven,  and  im- 
presses us  like  a  different  dialect,  until  we  perceive  that 
it  is  only  the  dialect  of  an  individual  mind,  our  insight 
into  which  will  furnish  us  the  key. 

The  name  is  our  English  Percival,  and  the  hero  is 
that  knight  of  Arthur's  Eound  Table,  who  alone  saw 
the  Holy  Grail,  after  the  transfiguration  of  Sir  Gala- 
had which  Tennyson  describes  in  the  second  of  his  last 
volume  of  Idylls.  A  Provencal  poem  by  Guiot,  and  the 
French  legend  of  ^' Chretien  de  Troyes"  seem  to  have  been 
Wolfram's  chief  authorities  for  the  stor^^ ;  but  he  has 


90  GEHMAN  LITERATURE. 

amplified  and  enriched  it,  not  like  Gottfried  in  ^^  Tristan,''' 
for  the  delight  of  picturesque  narrative,  but  with  refer- 
ence to  the  spiritual  symbolism  which  pervades  it.  The 
search  for  the  Holy  Grail — the  San  Graal — the  cup 
from  which  Christ  drank  at  the  last  supper  with  his  dis- 
ciples, is  one  of  the  most  mysteriously  beautiful  legends 
of  the  Middle  Ages.  Galahad,  whom  Tennyson  has 
celebrated,  is  not  mentioned  by  Wolfram.  The  story, 
as  he  tells  it  in  "Parzival,"  is  so  rich  in  details,  that  I 
cannot  take  time  to  repeat  them :  the  rudest  outline 
must  suffice. 

The  poem  commences  with  the  adventures  of  Gamuret 
of  Anjou,  the  father  of  Parzival,  who,  after  becoming 
King  of  "Wales  and  Norway  and  marrying  Queen  Herze- 
leide,  dies  in  Bagdad.  The  sorrowing  Queen  retires 
into  the  desert  of  Soltane,  and  brings  up  Parzival  as  a 
peasant-boy.  When  he  grows  up  and  sees  the  gay 
knights  riding  by,  he  begs  leave  to  go  out  and  seek 
adventures,  and  his  mother  finally  consents,  but  puts  on 
him  a  fool's  cap  and  bells.  After  overcoming  various 
knights,  he  reaches  Arthur's  court,  but  is  not  yet  ad- 
mitted to  the  Eound  Table.  An  old  knight,  named 
Gurnemanz,  teaches  him  knightly  manners,  and  sends 
him  forth  with  the  caution  not  to  ask  many  questions. 
He  rescues  the  Queen  Condwiramur  from  King  Cla- 
mide  of  Brandigan,  marries  her  and  becomes  King  of 
Brobarz.  On  his  way  to  visit  his  mother,  after  these 
events,  he  comes  to  a  castle  beside  a  lake.     The  King, 


THE  MEDI^iJVAL   EPICS.  91 

witli  four  hundred  kuiglits,  sits  at  a  table  in  a  splendid 
hall,  and  all  are  fed  by  the  miraculous  j^ower  of  the 
Holy  Grail,  which  the  Queen  places  upon  the  table. 
The  King  bleeds  from  a  wound,  and  the  knights  are 
overcome  with  sorrow,  but  Parzival,  who  is  most  hos- 
pitably treated,  asks  no  question.  On  leaving,  he  learns, 
too  late,  that  he  has  been  in  Monsalvalsche,  the  castle  of 
the  Grail,  and  should  have  asked  the  King  the  cause  of 
his  wound.  Soon  after  this,  Arthur,  who  has  heard  of 
Parzival's  wonderful  exploits,  leaves  his  capital  of  Car- 
duel  to  seek  him.  After  fighting,  incognito,  with  several, 
he  is  recognized  by  Gawain,  and  becomes  a  member  of 
the  Eound  Table. 

Several  books  are  devoted  to  the  adventures  of  both 
Parzival  and  Gawaiu,  in  their  search  for  the  Grail. 
Neither  finds  it,  but  both  perform  wonders  of  bravery, 
strength  and  self-denial.  Toward  the  close,  without 
any  apparent  reason  for  the  preference  given,  or  the 
sudden  change  of  destiny,  a  sorceress  announces  to  Par- 
zival, at  Arthur's  table,  that  he  has  been  chosen  King 
of  the  GraiL  He  thereupon  goes  to  the  lost  castle, 
heals  the  former  King,  by  asking  him  the  cause  of  his 
wound,  and  declares  his  son  Lohengrin, — who  after- 
ward, as  the  Knight  of  the  Swan,  becomes  the  hero  of 
a  romantic  legend, — King  of  Wales,  Norway,  Anjou  and 
several  other  countries. 

This  is  a  very  insufficient  sketch  of  the  story,  but  the 
episodes  are  so  attached  to  each  other,  by  the  associated 


92  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

fates  of  the  different  characters,  that  they  cannot  easily 
be  separated.  The  author's  peculiar  genius  is  mani- 
fested in  every  part,  and  thus  the  work  has  a  spiritual 
coherence  which  distinguishes  it  from  all  other  ej^ics 
of  the  age.  Parzival  is  not  a  mere  form  of  action — a 
doer  of  deeds,  like  Hartmann's  Erek  ;  or  a  heroic  lover, 
like  Gottfried's  Tristan:  he  is  a  jDure,  noble,  aspiring 
soul,  and  the  Grail  is  to  him  the  symbol  of  a  loftier  life. 
Many  scholars,  indeed,  consider  that  he  represents  the 
life  of  the  spirit,  and  Gawain  the  life  of  the  world,  and 
they  have  found  a  more  pervading  and  elaborate  alle- 
gorical character  in  the  work  than,  I  think,  was  ever 
intended  by  its  author.  But  in  regard  to  the  tendency 
of  his  genius,  we  cannot  be  mistaken. 

I  must  confess  that  the  more  I  study  the  poem,  the 
more  I  find  a  spiritual  meaning  shining  through  its 
lines.  The  perfect  innocence  and  purity  of  Parzival,  as 
a  boy,  are  wonderfully  drawn :  the  doubts  of  his  age 
of  manhood,  the  wasted  years,  the  trouble  and  gloom 
which  brood  over  him,  suggest  a  large  background  of 
earnest  thought ;  and,  although  the  symbolism  of  the 
Holy  Grail  may  not  be  entirely  clear,  it  means  at  least 
this  much — that  peace  of  soul  comes  only  through  Faith 
and  Obedience.  Like  Tennyson's  Galahad,  Wolfi'am 
seems  to  say,  in  Parzival: 

"  I  muse  on  joy  tliat  -will  not  cease, 

Pure  spaces  clothed  in  living  beams, 
Pure  lilies  of  eternal  peace, 
Whose  odors  hauut  my  dreams." 


THE  MEDIEVAL  EPICS. 


93 


To  Wolfram  Ton  Esclienbacli,  the  external  shows  of 
life  were  but  disguises  through  which  he  sought  to 
trace  the  action  of  the  moral  and  spiritual  forces  which 
develop  the  human  race.  His  psychological  instincts 
were  too  profound  for  a  sim23le  tale  of  knightly  adven- 
ture ;  he  was  not  enough  of  a  literary  artist  to  arrange 
his  conceptions  of  man's  nature  into  a  symmetrical  form, 
and  then  to  represent  them  completely  through  his 
characters;  and  thus  we  find,  in  "Farzival,"  a  struggle 
between  the  two  elements — between  thought  and  lan- 
guage, between  idea  and  action.  This  ^peculiarity  is  at 
first  a  disturbance  to  the  reader,  but  it  does  not  prevent 
him  from  feeling  the  latent,  underlying  unity  of  the 
work. 

The  parting  of  Queen  Herzeleide  from  her  son  Parzi- 
val  is  one  of  the  simpler  passages,  yet  even  here  we 
find  some  of  Wolfram's  characteristic  expressions  : 


Der  knappe  tump  unde  wert 

iesch  von  der  muoter  dicke  ein 

pfert. 
daz   begunde   se    iu    ir    lieizeu 

klagen. 
sie  dtilite  "  i'n  wil  im  niht  ver- 

sagen  : 
I'z  muoz  jiber  vil  boese  sin." 
do  gf'dahte  mer  diu  klinegin, 
der  liute  vil  bi  spotte  siiit. 
turen  kleider  sol  miu  kint 
ob  sime  lieliten  libe  tragen. 
wirt  er  geroufet  uut  geslagcu, 


TLe  boy,  silly  yet  brave  in- 
deed, 

Oft  from  his  mother  begged  a 
steed. 

That  in  her  heart  did  she  la- 
ment : 

She  thought:  "him  must  I 
make  content, 

Yet  must  the  thing  an  evil  be." 

Thereafter  further  pondered  she: 
"  The  folk  are  prone  to  ridicule. 

My  child  the  garments  of  a  fool 

Shall  on  his  shining  body  wear. 

If  he  be  scoffed  and  beaten 
there. 


94 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


so  kumet  er  mir  her  wider  wol." 
owe  der  jaemerliclien  dol  I 
diu  f  rouwe  nam  ein  sactuocli : 

sie     sneit     im     liemede     unde 

bruocli, 
daz    doch    an   eime    stiicke  er- 

scliein, 
unz    enmitten    an    sin    blankez 

bein. 
daz  wart  f  iir  toren  kleit  erkaut. 
sin  gugel  man  obene  drufe  vant. 
al  frisch  rucb  kelberin 

von  einer  but  zwei  riballin 

nach  sinen  beinen  wart  gesniten, 

dawartgroz  jamernibtvermiten. 

din  kiinegin  wis  also  bedabt, 

sie  bat  beliben  in  die  nabt. 

dune  solt  niht  binnen  keren, 

ich  wil  dicb  list  e  leren. 

an  ungebanten  strazen, 

soltu  tunkel  f  iirte  lazen  : 

die  silite  unde  luter  sin, 

da  solte  al  balde  riten  in. 

du  solt   dicb  site  nieten, 

der  werelde  grliezen  bieten. 

op  dicb  ein  gra  wise  man 

zubt  wil  lern  als  er  wol  kan, 

dem  soltu  gerne  volgen, 

und  wis  im  nibt  erbolgen. 

sun,  la  dir  bevolben  sin, 

swa  du  guotes  wibes  vingerlin 

miigest  erwerben  unt  ir  gruoz, 

daz  nim  :    ez  tuot  dir  kumbers 
buoz. 


Perchance     he'll    come    to    me 

again," 
Ah,  me,  how  wretched  was  her 

pain  ! 
The  dame  a  piece  of  sackcloth 

seeks, 
And  cuts  therefrom  a  shirt  and 

breeks, 
That  both  in  one  they  seem  to 

be. 
And  reach  below  to   the  white 

knee. 
For  a  fool's  dress  known  was  that, 
And  up  above  a  pointed  hat. 
Then  from  a  fresh,  rough  heifer's 

hide 
Stuff   for  two  shoes  did  she  di- 
vide, 
And  cut  them  so  to  fit  his  feet  ; 
And  still  her  dole  was  great. 
The  Queen  considered  all  aright. 
And  bade  him  tarry  over  night. 
"  Hence  not  sooner  shalt  thou  go, 
Ere  I  to  thee  shall  wisdom  show. 
Shun  untraveled  road  : 
Leave  dark  ways  untrode  ; 
If  they  are  sure  and  fair. 
Enter  and  journey  there. 
Strive  to  be  courteous  then, 
Offer  thy  greeting  to  men. 
If  thee  a  gray  wise  man 
Duty  will  teach,  as  well  he  can. 
Willingly  follow  his  rede. 
And  anger  him  not  with  deed. 
Son,  be  advised  this  thing  : 
If  thou  a  good  dame's  ring 
And  her  greeting  may'st  win  to 

thee. 
Take  :    and  thy  troubles    shall 

lighter  be. 


2HE  MEDIEVAL  EPICS.  95 

du  solt  z'ir  kusse  galien  Hasten  to  kiss  lier  face, 

und  ir  lip  vast'  umbevahen  :  And  to  clasp  her  in  finn   em- 

brace ; 

daz  git  gelilcke  und  holien  muot,       For,    when    she   is    good     and 

pure, 

op  sie  kiusche  ist  unde  guot."  'Twill  good  luck  and  courage  in- 

sure." 

As  a  specimen  of  his  descriptive  style,  I  will  quote 
some  lines  from  the  fifth  book,  where,  in  the  magic  cas- 
tle of  Monsalviilsche,  the  Queen,  Repanse  de  Schoie, 
brings  the  Holy  Grail  to  the  King's  table : 

Sie  nigen.     ir  zwuo  do  truogen  They  bowed.      Then  twain  of 

dar  them  did  bear 

uf  die  tavelen  wol  gevar  The  silver  to  the  tables  fair 

daz  silber,  unde  leiten'z  nider.  Full    carefully,    and   there   did 

place  : 
do  giengen  sie  mit  ziihten  wider      And  they  returned  with  modest 

grace 
zuo  den  ersten  zwelven  san.  To  the  first  twelve   within  the 

hall, 
ob  i  'z  gepriievet  rehte  lian.  If  I  have  rightly  coimted  all, 

hie  sulen  ahzehen  frouwen  sten.       Must  there  now  eighteen  ladies 

be. 
avoy  nu  siht  man  sehse  gen  Behold  !     six    others    next    we 

see, 
in  waete  die  man  tiure  gait :  All  clad  in  cloth   men  precious 

hold: 
daz  was  halbez  plialt,  The  stuff  was  half  of  silk  and 

gold, 
daz  ander  pfell'  von  Ninnive.  Muslin  of  Xineveh  the  rest, 

dise  unt  die  ersten  sehse  e  These,    and   the  first   six,    thus 

were  drest 
truogen  zwelf  rocke  geteilet,  Alike      in     mantles    two  -  fold 

wrought, 
gein  tiwerr  kost  geveilet.  And      for     a     heavy     treasure 

bought. 


96  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

niicli  dcnkom  din  kiinegin.  Now  after  tliem   advanced   the 

Queen, 
ir  antlitze  gap  den  scliin,  Witli  countenance  of  so  bright 

a  sheen, 
sie  wanden  alle  ez  wolde  tagen.        They   all   imagined   day   would 

dawn, 
man  sach  die  maget  an  ir  tragen       One  saw,  the  maiden  was  clothed 

on 
pfellel  von  Arabi.  With  muslin  stuffs  of  Araby. 

uf  einem  grlienen  achmardi  On  a  green  silken  cushion  she 

truve  sie  den  wunsch   von  par-       The  pearl  of  Paradise  did  bear, 

dis, 
bede  wurzeln  unde  ris.  Complete, — root,  branch,  begin- 

ning, end, — 
daz  was  ein  dine,   daz  hiez  der      The  Grail  it  was,    all  glorious, 

Gral,  fair, 

erden  wunsches  i'lberwal.  Beyond    perfection    Earth    can 

lend. 
Eepanse  de  schoye  sie  hiez,  Eej)anse  de  Scheie,  so  runs  the 

tale, 
die  sich  der  gral  tragen  liez.  Was  name  of  her  that  bore  the 

Grail  ; 
der  gral  was  von  solher  art  :  And  so  its  nature  did  endure, 

wol   muose   ir  kiusche   sin  be-       That   she  who  bore  it  must  be 

wart,  pure, 

diu  sin  ze  rehte  soldo  pflegen  :  Of  just  and  perfect  heart,  and 

strong 
diu  muose  valsches  sich  bewe-       To  frighten  falsehood,  sin   and 
gen.  wrong. 

Voreme  grale  komen  lieht :  Before  the  Grail  there  came  a 

light, 
diu  warn  von  armer  koste  niht  ;       The  worth  whereof  was  nothing 

slight : 
sehs  glas  lane  liiter  wol  getan,  Sis  cups  of  dazzling  crystal  held 

dar  inne  balsam  der  wol  bran.  A  burning   oil   that    balm  dis- 

pelled, 
do  sie  komen  von  der  tiir  Now    when,    in    proper    order, 

all, 
ze  rehter  maze  alsus  her  f  iir,  Entering,  had  traversed  the  high 

hall. 


THE  MEDIAEVAL   EPICS.  97 

mit  zuliten  neic  diu  klinegin  The    Queen  bowed    down   -u-ith 

modest  grace, 
und  al  diu  juucfrouweliu  And  the  six  maidens  bowed  the 

face, 
die  da  truogcn  balsemvaz.  Who  bore  the  cups  of  burning 

balm, 
diu  klinegin  valschiite  laz  Tlie    bkimeless    Queen,    proud, 

pure  and  calm, 
sazte  fur  den  wirt  den  gral.  Before   the    host  i^ut  down  the 

Grail  ; 
diz  maere  giht  daz  Parzival  And  Perciral,  so  runs  the  tale, 

dicke  an  sie  sach  unt  dahte.  To  gaze  upon  her  did  not  fail, 

diu  den  gral  da  brahte.  Who    thither    bore    the    Holy 

Grail. 


I  have  chosen  those  passages  which  illustrate  Wol- 
fram's manner  as  a  poet,  especially  as  compared  with 
Gottfried's.  We  have  no  means  of  estimating  the  influ- 
ence of  either  upon  his  day  and  generation.  Gottfried's 
allusion  indicates  that  there  were  rival  audiences  as 
well  as  authors,  and,  since  we  find  the  critics  divided 
now,  we  may  well  believe  that  there  was  greater  di- 
versity of  opinion  then.  Wolfram's  adherents  would  be 
among  the  thinkers,  who  were  then  rapidly  increasing 
in  number ;  Gottfried's  among  the  men  of  refinement 
and  education.  The  latter  may  be  called  the  literary 
ancestor  of  Wieland ;  but  Wolfram's  lineal  descendant, 
with  a  long  line  of  generations  between,  was  Goethe. 

Neither  of  the  other  two  epics  of  Wolfram — "  Wille- 

hihn''  and  "TUurcV' — was  completed:  the  latter  was 

barely  begun,  at  the  time  of  his  death.     The  "  Wille- 

Jialm  "  celebrates  the  adventures  of  Wilhelm  von  Orange, 

5 


98  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

of  Provence,  the  son  of  tlie  Count  of  Narbonne,  in  liis 
wars  with  the  heathens.  He  undoubtedly  followed  a 
Provencal  original  in  this,  as  in  "Parzival,''  and  was  per- 
haps led  to  the  theme  by  his  admiration  of  Wilhelm's 
character.  ^'■TitureV^  is  an  outgrowth  from  ^^Parzival"  : 
the  same  characters  appear.  It  is  written  in  a  different 
metre,  and  sIioavs,  in  the  fragment  which  remains,  a 
greater  force  and  fluency  of  expression.  Although  the 
length  of  the  last  line  interferes  with  the  movement 
of  the  verses,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  much  more  freely 
the  author's  thought  carries  itself,  without  losing  any- 
thing of  its  subtlety  and  suggestiveness.  I  quote  a 
few  stanzas  from  the  conversation  of  the  two  lovers, 
Schionatulander  and  Sigune : 
Sigune  says : 

"  Icli  weiz  wol,  du  bist  lands  unt  "  I  know   full   well  that  thou  of 

liute  groziu  frouwe  ;  lands    and    people    art  the 

Queen  ; 
des  enger  ich  alles  niht,  wan  daz      I  seek  not  that,  so  through  thine 

din    herze    dur    din     ouge  eyes  thy  heart  be  seen, 

schouwe, 
als6  daz  ez  den  kumber  niin  be-       So  that    it    doth   perceive    my 

denke  :  weight  of  sorrow  ; 

nu  hilf  mir  schiere,  e  daz  din      Then   help  me  now,  ere   heart 

minn    min    herze    und  die  and  love   a  deeper  trouble 

frciude  verkrenke."  borrow  ! 

The  Queen  answers : 

"  Swersd  mlnnehat,  dazsinminne  "If  one  hath   such   a  love   that 

ist  gevaere  danger  therein  be, 

deheime  als  lieben  friunde,  als  The  unfitting  word,  to  friend  so 

du  mir  bist,  daz  wort  unge-  dear  as  thou  to  me, 
baere 


THE  MEDIAEVAL   EPICS.  99 

wirt   von  mir    nim^r  benennet  I  ne'er  will  name  witli  name  of 

minne  :  love  or  lover  : 

Got  weiz  wol,  daz  icb  nie  bekan-  For,  knowetb  God,  love's  loss  or 

de  minnen  flust,  uocb  ir  ge-  gain  I  never  did  discover, 
winne. 

'Minne,  ist  daz  ein  Er?    malit  du  "  For  love,  is  it  a  He?     Canst  give 

minn  mir  diuten  ?  solution  just  ? 

Ist  daz  ein  Sie  ?  Kumet  mir  minn.  Is  it  a  She  ?     So  come  it,  bow 

wie  sol  icb  minne  getriuten  ?  shall  I  dare  trust  ? 

Muoz  icb   sie   bebalten    bi    den  Must  love  witb  dolls  be  left,  and 

tocken?  cbildisli  rapture? 

Od  fliuget  minne  ungerneuf  bant  Or  fiietb  it  out  of  band  in  tbe 

durb   die   wilde  ?    icb    kan  woods  ?     I  surely  can  recap- 

miun  wol  locken."  ture." 


Here  jou  will  notice,  not  only  the  expression  of  the 
feeling,  but  also  the  tendency  to  speculate  upon  its 
nature,  which  is  a  peculiarity  of  Wolfram  i^on  Esclien- 
bach.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  he  was  the  only 
profound  thinker  among  the  German  authors  of  the 
Middle  Ages. 

Wolfram  takes  the  same  delight  in  many-sjdlabled 
geographic  names,  as  Milton  ;  and  there  are  many  of  his 
lines  which  rinoj  w4tli  the  same  half-barbaric  music  as 
the  latter's  "  Aspramont  and  Montalban."  He  is  an  un- 
lettered minstrel,  with  great  qualities  in  the  rough ;  a 
man  of  high  aims  and  noble  aspirations,  struggling  with 
insurmountable  limitations,  and  missing  real  greatness 
on  account  of  them.  In  Gottfried's  case,  we  have  every- 
thing but  the  original  quality  of  intellect ;  but  Wolfram, 
having  that,  misses  the  clear  and  harmonious  form 
which  must  be  added,  chiefly  through  the  want  of  the 


100  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

culture  wliicli  Gottfried  possessed.  Could  tlie  two  have 
been  united  in  one  individual,  Germany  would  have  had 
her  great  mediaeval  jDoet,  the  equal  of  Dante. 

But  the  epithet  great  must  be  denied  to  this  courtly 
literature.  The  influence  of  the  church  and  of  classic 
learning,  though  greatly  weakened,  was  still  too  pow- 
erful to  permit  a  positive  departure  from  previous 
paths  of  thought.  The  new  wine  was  poured  into  old 
bottles,  but  it  was  not  quite  strong  enough  to  burst 
them.  So,  these  epics  remain  as  priceless  illustra- 
tions of  the  growth  of  the  German  mind  during  the 
Middle  Ages,  of  the  long  fermentation  which  clarified 
into  purity  and  flavor  centuries  afterward,  not  immortal 
in  their  own  solitary  right,  but  fi"om  the  circumstances 
out  of  which  they  grew.  Add  to  them  the  lyric  poetry 
of  the  Minnesingers,  and  we  are  astonished  at  the  pro- 
ductiveness of  the  age.  From  this  point  we  must  date 
the  commencement  of  a  national  culture ;  for  much  of 
the  great  work  of  Charlemagne  had  been  undone  in  the 
three  centuries  between  him  and  the  Hohenstaufens.  If 
the  literature  of  the  latter  period  failed  of  its  immediate 
and  full  effect,  through  the  re-intervention  of  political 
and  ecclesiastical  causes,  it  was  none  the  less  a  basis  of 
achievement  upon  which  the  race  thenceforth  stood ; 
and  if  we  could  read  the  secrets  of  History,  we  should 
perhaps  find  that  the  harp  preserved  for  Germany  a 
better  possession  than  was  lost  to  her  by  the  sword. 


IV. 

THE  NIBELUNGENLIED. 

TVe  now  come  to  that  other  literary  element  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  which  is  of  earlier  origin  than  the  courtly 
epics,  but  which  only  assumed  its  present  form  about 
the  time  when  they  were  produced.  I  have  called  it 
the  epic  poetry  of  the  People,  because,  more  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  literature  of  the  human  race — not  even 
excepting  the  "Iliad"  and  the  "Odyssey" — it  has  the 
character  of  a  growth  rather  than  a  composition.  We 
may  guess  when  its  growth  began ;  we  can  very  nearly 
determine  the  time  when  that  growth  ended ;  but  there 
our  knowledge  stops.  By  whom,  or  under  what  cir- 
cumstances, the  first  legends  came  into  being, — how 
they  were  kept  alive,  increased,  transformed  with  each 
generation — who  took  the  rude,  shapeless,  separated 
parts,  and  united  them  in  one  grand,  coherent  form, — 
are  questions  which  cannot  be  positively  answered. 

The  more  carefully  we  study  the  "Nibehnigenlied" 
and  its  history,  the  more  we  are  impressed  with  its 
exceptional  character.  Unnoticed  in  the  records  of  the 
ages;  ignored,  perhaps  contemptuously  disparaged  by 
the  minstrelsy  of  the  courts ;  kept  alive  only  through 
the  inherited  fondness  of  the  masses  for  their  old  tra- 

101 

■  V 


sInta  bas^- 


102  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

ditions,  it  lias  been  almost  miraculously  preserved  to  us, 
to  be  now  appreciated  as  the  only  strong,  original  crea- 
tion of  the  youtli  of  the  German  race. 

The  fact  that  we  find  in  the  " Nihelungenlied "  traces 
of  the  ancient  mythology,  with  various  incidents  which 
are  given  in  the  earliest  prose  Edda  of  the  Scandina- 
vians, together  with  characters  taken  from  the  most 
stirring  history  of  the  Volker wander ung,  or  Migration  of 
the  Races,  proves  the  antiquity  of  the  material.  But 
the  anachronism  of  making  Theodoric  the  Great,  the 
Gothic  King  of  Italy,  and  Attila,  King  of  the  Huns, 
contem23oraries,  also  gives  us  a  clue  to  the  probable  time 
when  the  two  elements  began  to  be  fused  together. 
Attila  died  in  453,  and  Theodoric  in  526.  The  unedu- 
cated mass  of  people  would  soon  forget  dates,  and  con- 
fuse the  events  of  former  generations ;  but  some  little 
time  must  be  allowed  to  elapse  before  this  could  take 
place.  The  "  oldest  inhabitants  "  must  first  die,  before 
the  united  legends  could  be  publicly  recited  without 
their  accuracy  being  disputed  by  some  grey-haired  lis- 
tener. We  can  hardly  assume  that  the  first  blending  of 
the  different  elements  took  place  before  the  year  600,  or 
much  later  than  a  century  afterward.  It  is  most  prob- 
able that  the  collection  made  by  Charlemagne  included 
all  that  was  in  existence  in  his  da}^ ;  but,  that  collection 
being  lost,  we  are  left  without  any  record  of  the  growth 
or  changing  character  of  the  legend,  until  the  tenth  cen- 
tury. 


TEE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  103 

First  of  all,  I  must  recall  to  your  memory  the  features 
of  the  migration  of  the  tribes.  The  commeucemeut  of 
this  remarkable  historical  episode  is  usually  fixed  about 
the  year  375,  in  which  year  the  Huns,  coming  from  Cen- 
tral Asia,  and  first  overcoming  the  Alans,  between  the 
Volga  and  the  Don,  broke  up  the  ancient  kingdom  of 
the  Goths,  and  started  them  on  their  wanderings  west- 
ward. The  Ostrogoths  had  uj)  to  that  time  possessed 
the  country  between  the  Don  and  the  Dniester,  in  South- 
ern Russia;  and  the  Visigoths,  all  the  region  north  of  the 
Danube,  as  far  westward  as  the  river  Theiss,  in  Hungary. 
Gradually  pressing  westward,  and  driving  the  other 
tribes,  including  the  original  Germanic  races,  before 
them,  the  Huns,  then  under  Attila,  were  finally  arrested 
by  the  great  battle  near  Chalons-sur-Marne,  where  they 
were  defeated  by  the  Romans  under  Aetius  and  the 
Visigoths  under  Theodoric  I.  This  was  in  the  year  451, 
and  two  years  later  Attila  died.  The  Visigoths,  under 
Alaric,  had  already  invaded  Italy  in  402,  but  ten  years 
later  they  passed  through  Southern  Gaul  into  Spain. 
The  Ostrogoths,  on  the  contrary,  did  not  reacli  Italy 
until  488,  under  Theodoric  the  Great,  who  made  Ve- 
rona his  capital,  and  is  therefore  called,  in  the  German 
legends  Dietrich  von  Bern.  After  Theodoric's  death, 
the  kingdom  existed  for  a  few  years,  but  finally  ceased 
about  554,  and  the  Gothic  blood  mixed  itself  witli  that 
of  the  Lombards,  the  Helvetians  and  the  Germans, 
losing  all  distinctive  national  character. 


104  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Tlie  Burgundians,  who  were  a  Germanic  race,  inlia- 
biting  the  region  between  the  Vistula  and  the  Oder,  in 
Prussia,  were  also  driven  to  west  and  south  in  the  gen- 
eral movement,  and  first  settled,  eighty  thousand  men 
strong,  in  Gaul,  between  Geneva  and  Lyons.  Here  they 
became  Arian  Christians  in  the  space  of  eight  days, 
seven  days  being  allowed  for  conversion  and  one  for 
bajitism.  Sidonius  Apollinarius  describes  them  as  men 
from  six  to  seven  feet  high,  clothed  in  the  skins  of  beasts, 
and  valuing  their  freedom  as  the  highest  possession. 
"When  Attila  entered  Gaul  in  451,  the  Burgundian  King 
Gundicar  (supposed  to  be  the  Gunther  of  the  "A^ihe- 
lungenlied'")  opposed  his  march  with  ten  thousand  war- 
riors, but  all  were  slain  after  a  long  and  heroic  defense. 
The  tribe  finally  moved  northward,  and  occupied  the 
country  from  the  Bhine  westward,  including  the  present 
French  province  of  Burgundy. 

This  is  all  of  the  great  migratory  movement  which 
we  require  to  know,  in  reading  the  " Nihelungenlied ;  ^' 
the  other  elements  embodied  in  it  are  either  taken  from 
the  same  source  as  the  older  Scandinavian  Edda,  or 
were  added  as  the  story  was  transmitted  from  mouth  to 
mouth  for  centuries.  Lachmann,  who  devoted  a  great 
deal  of  labor  to  the  examination  of  the  existing  manu- 
scripts and  their  chronological  character,  as  derived 
from  the  language,  has  fixed  upon  twenty  lays,  or  sep- 
arate chapters  of  the  poem,  as  being  of  an  ancient 
origin ;  the  remaining  nineteen  he  considers  as  addi- 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIEB.  105 

tions  made  about  the  close  of  the  twelfth  century,  for 
the  purpose  of  uniting  the  whole  into  one  consistent 
story.  He  states  that  there  were  two,  if  not  more,  at- 
tempts to  perform  this  difficult  task,  without  counting 
the  previous  changes  which  he  thinks  the  original  lays 
must  have  undergone  in  the  course  of  several  centuries. 
About  one  hundred  and  eighty  ^^ears  after  the  close  of 
this  mediaeval  period  of  German  literature,  printing  was 
invented,  and  one  of  the  earliest  native  works  which 
was  transferred  from  manuscript  to  type  was  Wolfram 
von  Eschenbach's  ''Parzival."  The  "Nibeliingenlied" 
seems  to  have  been  already  forgotten  by  the  people ; 
and  not  until  the  year  1751  w^as  a  part  of  it  j)ublished  by 
Bodmer,  in  Zurich,  under  the  title  of  "  Chriemhild's 
Revenge."  The  first  complete  republication  of  the 
entire  epic  was  made  by  Miiller  in  1782.  Afterward, 
Lachmann  and  the  Brothers  Grimm  made  careful  com- 
parisons of  the  three  complete  manuscripts,  and  it  now 
apj)ears  to  be  settled  that  the  oldest  is  that  of  Munich, 
the  next  that  of  St.  Gall — although  there  are  but  a  few 
years'  difference  between  them,  either  way — and  the 
latest,  that  belonging  to  Baron  von  Lassberg.  This  last 
is  the  most  complete,  but  appears  to  be  the  least 
authentic.  The  Munich  manuscript  is  generally  attri- 
buted to  the  great  unknown,  who  conceived  the  idea 
of  creating  an  epic  unity  out  of  the  scattered  ma- 
terial,— an  idea  which  he  carried  out  with  wonder- 
ful power  and  skill,  and  so  nearly  achieved  the  highest 
5* 


106  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

success  that  we  wonder  how  he  shouhl  have  falVm 
short  of  it. 

Since  Laclimann,  however,  other  scholars  have  taken 
up  the  study  of  the  poem  with  the  fresher  and  keener 
knowledge  of  our  day.  Zarncke,  Bartsch,  and  last  of 
all,  Hermann  Fischer,  have  applied  to  it  the  tests  of 
jjhilological  and  metrical  criticism  ;  and  the  chief  result 
is  that  the  belief  which  was  so  long  entertained — which 
suggested  to  the  Greek  scholar  Wolff  his  celebrated 
Homeric  theory — that  it  was  the  production  of  many 
authors,  combined  and  thrown  into  a  symmetrical  form 
by  some  poetic  editor,  has  been  generally  given  up.  It 
is  now  admitted  that  the  greater  portion  of  the  poem 
was  the  work  of  one  author,  who  took  the  chief  incidents 
of  the  story  from  a  version  of  the  popular  legend,  writ- 
ten by  order  of  Bishop  Piligrim  of  Passau,  somewhere 
about  the  year  980.  The  time  when  the  " Nihclungenlied,''^ 
in  its  present  form,  was  written,  has  also  been  approxi- 
mately fixed.  It  could  not  have  been  earlier  than  1130, 
nor  later  than  1180  :  thus  it  jjrecedes  the  romantic  epics 
by  a  few -years. 

One  of  the  early  Minnesingers,  who  was  called  "  the 
Kiirenberger,"  has  left  behind  him  fifteen  detached 
stanzas,  written  in  the  measure  of  the  ''Nihelungenlied." 
It  is  conjectured  that  he  was  either  Magnus  or  Konrad 
von  Kiirenberg,  who  were  natives  of  Upper  Austria,  and 
the  German  critics  incline  more  and  more  to  the  belief 
that  we  must  accept  him  as  the  great  poet  of  the  Middle 


THE  NIBELUyGENLIED.  107 

Ages,  liitlierto  unknown.  Fischer  asserts  tliat  the 
"Nibelungenliecr' Vi'SiS  either  originally  written,  or  care- 
fully revised  and  polished,  about  the  year  1170,  and 
that  it  was  intended  to  be  recited  at  courts,  and  heard 
by  noble  auditors.  It  is  quite  certain  that  between  the 
years  1190  and  1200,  the  poera  was  reproduced  in  two 
different  co23ies,  one  of  which,  called  the  "  Vulgata"  ad- 
dressed itself  to  the  common  people.  The  aristocratic 
version  had  but  a  short  life,  if  indeed  any  life  :  the  taste 
of  courts  preferred  the  epics  based  on  the  Arthurian 
legends.  But  the  people  gratefully  accepted  and  cher- 
ished their  version,  and  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  years 
the  few  fi-agments  of  their  poetry  Avliich  survive,  betray 
its  influence. 

If  you  remember  the  bareness  and  bluntness  of  the 
"Hildebrandslied'' — the  simple  means  by  which  strong 
effects  are  produced — you  will  understand  the  original 
character  of  the  "  Nibelimgenlied"  which  is  still  pre- 
served through  all  the  changes  of  language.  But  Avith 
this  simplicity  of  diction,  it  is  richer  in  incident  than 
the  "Iliad."  The  stage  is  crowded  with  characters  ;  for 
the  union  of  three  legendary  cycles  in  one  work,  which 
shall  combine  the  best  features  of  all,  has  resulted  in  a 
condensation  which  excludes  the  prolific  description  and 
sentiment  of  the  courtly  epics.  There  are  not  quite 
10,000  lines,  instead  of  the  20,000  of  Gottfried  or  Hart- 
mann.  Certain  forms  of  expression  are  repeated,  as  in 
their  poems,  but  the  action  varies  with  each  Aventiure, 


108  OERMAN  LITERATURE. 

or  adventure,  of  the  thirty-nine,  and  the  poem  closes  as 
abruptly  as  it  begins.  Carlyle  says,  with  entire  truth: 
"The  unknown  singer  of  the  'Nibelungen/  though  no 
Shakespeare,  must  have  had  a  deep  poetic  soul.  .  .  . 
His  poem,  unlike  so  many  old  and  new  ]3retenders  to 
that  name,  has  a  basis  and  an  organic  structure,  a  begin- 
ning, middle  and  end;  there  is  one  great  principle  and 
idea  set  forth  in  it,  round  which  all  its  multifarious  parts 
combine  in  living  union.  Remarkable  it  is,  moreover, 
how  along  with  this  essence  and  primary  condition  of  all 
j)oetic  virtue,  the  minor  external  virtues  of  what  we  call 
taste,  and  so  forth,  are,  as  it  were,  presupposed :  and  the 
living  soul  of  Poetry  being  there,  its  body  of  incidents, 
its  garment  of  language,  come  of  their  own  accord." 

Now  let  us  take  up  the  '^Nibelungenlied,"  in  the  form 
it  wore,  at  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century.  It  may  be  so 
easily  read,  that  I  have  never  been  able  to  see  the  neces- 
sity of  the  translations  into  modern  German.  This  is 
the  opening  stanza: 

Uns  ist  in  alten  maeren   |    wun-  We  find  in  ancient  story   [  won- 
ders vil  geseit  ders  many  told, 

von  lieleden  lobebaeren,    |    von  Of  heroes  of  great  glory,    |    of 
grozer  arebeit,  spirit  strong  and  bold  ; 

von  frouden,  liocligeziten,  |  von  Of  joyances  and  high-tides,  |  of 
weinen  und  von  klagen  ;  weeping  and  of  woe, 

von  kliener  reckon  striten  |  mu-  Of  strife  of  gallant  fighters,    | 
get   ir  nu    wunder    hoereii  mote  ye  now  many  wonders 

sagen.  know. 

You  will  notice  that  the  measure  is  peculiar.     Each 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIEB.  109 

line  is  divided  by  a  c?esiiral  j^ause  so  marked  that  tliere 
is  a  space  left  between  the  words  to  indicate  it.  The 
first  half  of  the  line  has  three  iambic  feet,  with  a  redun- 
dant syllable ;  the  latter  half  three  feet,  excej^t  in  the 
closing  line  of  the  stanza,  where  it  occasionally  has  four. 
The  measure  varies  in  effect,  sometimes  bold  and  strong, 
with  a  fine  irregularity  of  movement,  sometimes  sweet 
and  musical,  but  frequently  rough  and  halting,  and  it 
requires  some  familiarity  before  it  adjusts  itself  to  the 
ear.  Yet  how  near  it  came  to  a  noble  rhythmical  form 
may  be  seen  from  those  bsdlads  of  Uhlaud,  wherein  he 
has  taken  the  same  metrical  principle,  and  simply  given 
it  regularity.  Take  the  opening  of  his  historical  Sua- 
bian  ballads,  for  instance  : 

"1st  denn  im  Scliwabenlande  verschollen  aller  Sang,"  etc. 
Are  then  the  Suabian  valleys,  by  sounds  of  song  unstirred, 
Where  once  so  clear  on  Staufen  the  knightly  harp  was  heard, 
And  why,  if  Song  yet  liveth,  proclaim  not  now  its  cliords 
The  deeds  of  hero-fathers,  the  clash  of  ancient  swords? 

Or  take  tlie  opening  of  Macaulay's  "  Horatius,"  throw 
two  lines  into  one,  and  you  have  the  same  measure : 

"  Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium,  by  the  nine  gods  he  swore 
That  the  great  house  of  Tarquin  should  suffer  wrong  no  more." 

The  second  stanza  of  the  ^' Nihclungcn  "  is : 

Ez  wuohs  in  Burgonden  |  ein  vil  There  once  was  in  Burgundy  |  a 
edel  magedin,  maid  of  high  degree, 

daz  in  alien  landen  |  niht  schoe-  That  in  all  lands  and  countries  | 
ners  mohte  sin,  no  fairer  might  there  be  ; 


110  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Kriemhilt  geheizen :  I  si  wart  ein  A   lovely   woman    was   she,    | 

scoene  wip.  Chriemhild.  was  she  hight, 

dar  umbe  muosen  degene  |   vil  For  lier  sake  many  swordsmen  | 

verliestn  den  lip.  must  lose  tteir  lives  in  fight. 


Thus  simply  tlie  theme  opens.  Chriemhild  the  fair 
and  Brunhild  the  dark  are  the  heroines  ;  Siegfried  the 
Strong,  Gunther  and  Hagen,  Attila  and  Theodoric  the 
heroes.  The  sagas  of  the  Niblungs  and  the  gods  Odin 
and  Loki,  the  marches  of  the  Huns  and  Goths,  magic 
and  human  passion,  love  and  hate,  are  now  mixed  to- 
gether in  a  wild,  fierce  and  fateful  story,  which  yet 
does  not  soar  so  high  as  to  lose  its  hold  on  the  gene- 
ral sympathies  of  men. 

At  the  same  time  with  the  fair  Burgundian  maiden, 
lived  in  the  Netherlands  Siegfried,  the  sou  of  King 
Siegemund  and  Queen  Siegelinde.  He  is  synonymous 
with  the  Sigurd  of  Scandinavian  saga,  the  fair,  strong 
young  knight  who  overcomes  men,  giants  and  dragons. 
When  he  has  reached  the  pro23er  age,  Siegfried  is 
knighted ;  then,  refusing  to  accept  his  father's  sceptre, 
he  goes  to  Worms,  where  Chriemhild  lives  under  the 
care  of  her  three  brothers,  Gunther,  Gemot  and  Gei- 
selher.  He  does  not  see  the  famous  beauty  until  after 
he  has  conquered  the  Saxons  and  Danes,  and  brought 
the  Danish  King  Lindegast  captive  to  Worms  :  then  he 
is  presented  to  her,  she  thanks  him,  and  he  is  permitted 
to  give  her  a  kiss.  He  asks  Gunther  for  her  hand,  which 
is  promised  to  him  on  condition  that  he  will  accompany 


THE  NIBELUNOENLIED.  m 

the  latter  to  Iceland  and  assist  him  in  his  wooing  of 
Queen  Brunhild.  Gunther's  uncle,  Hagen,  who  after- 
ward becomes  the  evil  genius  of  the  story,  and  the 
knight  Dankwart  accompany  them.  The  enterprise 
would  have  failed  had  not  Siegfried  possessed  a  tarn- 
hapije,  or  cap  which  rendered  the  wearer  invisible,  and 
the  sword  Balmung  of  marvelous  power.  Besides,  he 
had  bathed  in  the  fat  of  a  dragon  which  he  had  slain, 
and  was  invulnerable  except  in  a  small  spot,  between 
the  shoulders,  where  a  linden-leaf  had  fallen  upon  him 
as  he  bathed. 

The  amazon  Brunhild  fights  with  Gunther,  but  is 
really  vanquished  by  the  invisible  Siegfried.  The  lat- 
ter then  steers  to  the  land  of  the  Niblungs,  takes  pos- 
session of  a  great  treasure,  or  hoard,  which  he  had 
previously  won  in  a  fight  wdth  giants,  and  returns  to 
Iceland  with  a  thousand  of  the  Nibelungen  warriors,  as 
Gunther's  escort  when  he  carries  Brunhild  to  Worms. 
When  the  two  are  married,  Siegfried  also  receives  the 
hand  of  Chriemhild.  He  assists  Gunther  again  in  over- 
coming the  magical  strength  of  Brunhild,  and  gives 
the  amazon's  girdle  and  ring  to  his  wife,  together  witli 
the  "Nibehingenhort."  To  this  treasure  a  curse  is  at- 
tached, and  an  evil  fate  follows  its  possessor. 

Siegfried  and  Chriemhild  rule  for  ten  years  as  King 
and  Queen  of  the  Netherlands ;  then,  with  a  large  retinue 
of  Nibelungen  warriors,  they  pay  a  visit  to  Worms,  at 
the  invitation  of  King  Gunther.     After  the  first  splen- 


112  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

did  festivities,  a  strife  for  j^recedence  arises  between 
Ctriemliild  and  Brunhild  :  the  two  queens  meet  at  the 
door  of  the  cathedral,  and  each  insists  on  entering  first. 
Brunhild  claims  that  Siegfried  is  Gunther's  vassal ; 
Chriemhild  retorts  by  asserting  that  Siegfried,  not  Gun- 
ther,  overcame  her  rival  in  Iceland,  and  produces  the  ring 
and  the  girdle  in  proof.  The  two  kings,  who  are  sum- 
moned by  their  wives,  endeavor  to  compose  the  quarrel ; 
but  the  uncle  Hagen  goes  secretly  to  Brunhild,  and 
promises  to  revenge  her.  Externally  there  is  peace 
again,  but  the  elements  of  ruin  are  at  work.  Hagen 
now  goes  to  Chriemhild,  professes  to  be  a  friend,  and 
offers  to  watch  over  Siegfried,  in  case  Brunhild  should 
attempt  any  secret  revenge.  Chriemhild  is  deceived  by 
the  old  traitor  :  she  tells  him  of  the  vulnerable  spot  on 
Siegfried's  back,  where  the  linden-leaf  lay,  and  even 
braids  an  ornament  over  the  spot  on  his  mantle,  so  that 
Hagen  may  know  where  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

The  catastrophe  instantly  follows.  Siegfried  is  taken 
out  to  hunt  by  Gunther  and  Hagen,  and  in  a  moment  of 
the  gayest  peace  and  confidence  is  treacherously  slain. 
But  Chriemhild's  woes  are  not  yet  at  an  end :  Sieg- 
fried's father  returns  in  haste  to  his  own  land :  Gunther 
persuades  his  sister  to  bring  the  "NibehmgenJiort''  to 
Worms,  which  is  no  sooner  done  than  he  seizes  it  by 
force,  and  its  attending  curse  is  thus  transferred  to  his 
own  house.  It  is  not  long  before  the  three  brothers, 
Gunther,  Gemot  and  Geiselher,  begin  to  quarrel  about 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIEB.  113 

the  treasure,  and  finally  Hagen  sinks  it  in  tlie  Eliine, 
making  each  take  an  oatli  that  he  will  not  reveal  the 
spot  while  either  of  the  others  is  alive. 

In  the  meantime  the  count  Rudiger  comes  to  Worms 
to  solicit  Chriemhild's  hand  for  Attila.  She  hesitates, 
until  Eiidiger  hints  that  she  may  in  this  way  obtain  her 
revenge  for  Siegfried's  death  ;  then,  taking  her  brothers 
Gemot  and  Geiselher,  she  sets  out  for  the  Danube, 
reaches  the  land  of  the  Huns,  and  is  married  to  Attila. 
The  account  of  the  wedding  in  Yienna,  of  their  life  in 
Attila's  castle,  and  Chriemhild's  wise  government  are 
minutely  described  in  the  jDoem.  She  has  a  son  who  is 
named  Ortlieb,  she  possesses  the  entire  love  and  confi- 
dence of  Attila,  she  is  renowned  among  the  Huns  and  in 
foreign  lands,  but  the  dream  of  vengeance  never  fades 
from  her  mind.  Night  and  day  she  j^lans  how  to  get 
possession  of  her  uncle  Hagen,  her  brother  Gunther, 
and  the  Nibelungen  treasure.  Finally,  in  the  thirteenth 
•year  of  her  marriage,  she  persuades  Attila  to  send  two 
minstrels  to  Burgundy,  and  invite  the  whole  court  to  a 
grand  high-tide,  or  festival,  in  the  land  of  the  Huns. 

Hagen  foresees  danger,  and  counsels  against  accepting 
the  invitation,  but  he  is  overruled.  I  must  here  explain 
that  the  Burgundians,  after  obtaining  the  treasure  and 
its  Nihlimg  guardians,  are  thenceforth  called  "Nihe- 
limgen,"  and  the  poem,  from  this  point  to  the  end,  was 
called  the  " Nibdiingennoth  " — need,  extremity,  or  fate. 
The  journey  to  the  Danube,  the  crossing  of  that  river 


114  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

and  tlie  arrival  of  tlie  Nibelungen  at  Attila's  Court, 
are  described  in  detail,  with  great  spirit  and  pictn- 
resqueness.  It  is  evident  that  the  last  author  is  on  fa- 
miliar ground  :  he  mentions  places  which  retain  nearly 
the  same  names  at  the  present  day.  As  the  march 
advances,  the  omens  increase  ;  even  Theodoric  appears 
and  warns  the  Nibelungen  of  their  coming  danger. 
Hagen,  whose  part  in  these  final  lays  is  compared  by 
some  of  the  German  critics  to  that  of  Cassandra  in  the 
"Iliad,"  now  becomes  grand  in  spite  of  his  treachery.  His 
fidelity  to  his  friend  Yolker,  the  minstrel,  his  courage, 
his  desperate  bravery,  his  unshaken  attitude  of  hero- 
ism, lift  him  beside  Chriemhild  into  a  splendid  tragical 
prominence,  beside  which  the  other  characters — Gun- 
tlier,  Attila,  Theodoric  and  Hildebrand — sink  into  com- 
parative indistinctness.  Riidiger,  only,  rises  into  promi- 
nence toward  the  close,  as  a  man  of  singular  honor  and 
nobility  of  nature.  But  Hagen  towers  above  all,  grim- 
mer and  grander  than  Macbeth,  in  his  defiance  of  the 
coming  doom. 

Attila,  who  knows  nothing  of  Chriemhild's  plans  of 
vengeance,  receives  the  Nibelungen  kindly,  and  sleeps 
innocently  during  the  night  when  her  armed  Huns 
are  waiting  the  opportunity  for  murder,  of  which  they 
are  deprived  by  Hagen's  watchfulness.  In  the  morn 
ing,  when  the  guests  are  dressing  for  mass  in  the 
cathedral,  Hagen  tells  them :  "  Ye  must  take  other 
garments,  ye  swordsmen,  hauberks  instead  of  silk  shirts, 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  115 

shields  instead  of  mantles ;  and  now,  my  masters  dear, 
squires  and  men  likewise,  ye  shall  most  earnestly  go  to 
church,  and  lay  before  the  high  God  your  sorrow  and 
your  dire  extremity  ;  for  verily  death  is  nigh  unto  us." 
At  the  royal  feast  in  Attila's  hall,  the  strife,  instigated  by 
Chriemhild,  commences,  and  Hagen  first  strikes  off  the 
head  of  her  son,  Ortlieb.  Then  swords  are  drawn  and 
murder  is  loose.  Theodoric,  with  a  mighty  voice,  at- 
tempts to  stop  the  fray,  but  in  vain ;  then  he,  Attila 
and  Chriemhild  withdraw.  From  this  point  to  the  end 
all  is  movement  and  passion ;  every  incident  is  illu- 
minated as  by  a  fierce  crimson  light.  No  mere  outline 
can  do  it  the  least  justice.  The  Huns  j)ress  into  the 
hall,  and  all  night  there  is  naught  but  carnage,  fire  and 
the  terrible  noise  of  fighting.  At  last  all  are  slain  but 
Hagen  and  Gunther,  both  sorely  wounded.  They  are 
bound  by  Theodoric,  whose  warriors,  except  Hildebrand, 
have  shared  the  common  fate,  and  are  then  brought 
before  Chriemhild,  who  demands  to  know  where  they 
have  sunk  the  "NibclungenJiorf."  Hagen  answers  that 
he  cannot  tell  while  Gunther  lives.  The  latter  is  instantly 
slain,  and  then  the  fierce  old  uncle  says :  "  Now  none 
knoweth  of  the  hoard  but  God  and  I,  and  from  thee,  she- 
devil,  shall  it  be  forever  hidden !  "  Thereupon  Chriem- 
hild seizes  his  own  sword — the  famous  sword  Balmung, 
which  had  once  belonged  to  Siegfried — and  strikes  off 
his  head.  Attila  laments  his  fate,  but  Hildebrand — 
the  hero  of  the  "Illldehrandslied" — slays  the  avenging 


116 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Cliriemliiltl,  and   the   poem  closes,  after  this  terrible 
night  of  slaughter,  with  these  stanzas  : 


Hildebrant    niit    zorne     |      zuo 

Kriemliilde  spranc, 
er  sluoc  der  Kiineg-inne  |  einen 

swaeren  swertes  swanc. 

ja  tet  ir  diu  sorge  |  von  Hilde- 

brande  we, 
waz  molite  si  gelielfen   |    daz  si 

s6  grilzliclien  sere  1 

Do  was  gelegen  aller  |    da  der 

reigen  lip. 
ze  stiicken  was  geliouwen    |   do 

daz  edele  wip. 
Dietrich  und  Etzel  |  weinen  do 

began  : 
si   klageteu   inneclicbe  |    beidin 

mage  unde  man. 

Diu  vil  michel  ere  |  was  da  gele- 
gen tot. 

die  liute  lieten  alle  |  jamer  unde 

not. 
mit  leide  was  verendet  |  des  Kii- 

uiges  bohgezit, 
als  je   diu   liebe  leide    |    z'aller 

jungiste  git. 

I'ne  kan  iu  nilit  bescbeiden,  | 
waz  sider  da  gescliacb: 

wan  ritter  unde  vrouweu  |  wei- 
nen man  da  sack, 

dar  zuo  die  edelen  knelite,    |    ir 
lieben  friunde  tot. 

hie  hat  daz  maere  ein  cnde:  |  daz 
ist  der  Nibeluuge  not. 


Then  Hildebrand  in  fury  |  to 
Chriemhild  did  go. 

And  struck  the  queen  with  fal- 
chion I  a  sore  and  heavy 
blow ; 

Of  Hildebrand  her  terror  |  was 
more  than  she  could  hide. 

But  nothing  did  it  help  her  |  that 
there  so  miserably  she  cried. 

Now  slain  were  all  that  should 

be,  I  they  lay  withouten  life. 
And  she  was  hewn  to  pieces,  | 

and  dead,  that  roj'al  wife  ; 
Theodoric  and  Attila  |  a  weeping 

then  began ; 
Sore   was  the  lamentation    |    of 

maiden  and  of  man. 

Ah,  how  much  was  the  splen- 
dor I  which  there  lay  dead 
and  cold ! 

And  fell  on  all  the  people  |  dis- 
tress and  woe  untold ; 

In  sorrow  thus  was  ended  |  the 
high -tide  of  the  King, 

As  after  joy  comes  always  |  some 
sad  and  cruel  thing. 

I  cannot  tell  you  further  |  what 
happened  of  the  tale, 

Except  that  knights  and  ladies  | 
were  seen  to  weep  and  wail. 

And  eke  the  gallant  swords- 
man, I  whose  dearest  friends 
lay  low. 

And  here  the  story  endeth :  |  this 
is  the  Nibelungen  woe. 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  117 

Even  from  the  very  brief  sketches  of  the  courtly  epics 
which  I  have  given,  you  will  be  able  to  recognize  how 
strongly  the  ^' Nibelmujcnlied"  contrasts  with  them  in 
plan,  character  and  expression.  The  strong,  large  fea- 
tures of  the  old  legends,  both  Gothic  and  Scandinavian, 
still  look  upon  us  from  its  lines ;  something  of  the  rude- 
ness, but  also  the  power,  of  the  early  Bardic  songs  is 
felt  in  its  measures ;  the  Christian  faith  has  been  added, 
it  is  true,  but  without  changing  in  any  way  the  pagan 
virtues  and  vices  of  the  original  characters.  Siegfried 
and  Hagen  are  made  of  other  flesh  and  blood  than  the 
love-stricken  Tristan  or  the  pure-souled  Parzival.  There 
are  no  fair  descriptions  of  nature,  no  expressions  of 
sentiment  or  emotion  beyond  the  most  necessary  utter- 
ances. When  Siegfried  is  treacherously  slain,  he  only 
says :  "  I  lament  nothing  upon  the  earth  except  Frau 
Chriemhild,  my  wife."  "  In  poetry,"  says  a  critic,  "  the 
rude  man  requires  only  to  see  something  going  on ;  the 
man  of  a  more  refined  nature  wishes  to  feel ;  while  the 
man  of  the  highest  culture  asks  that  he  shall  be  made  to 
reflect."  The  "Nibelungenlied"  fulfills  the  first  of  tliese 
conditions  to  the  utmost :  there  is  action,  much  of  it  of 
the  most  tremendous  character,  from  beginning  to  end ; 
and  the  stage,  vast  as  it  is,  is  always  croAvded  with  per- 
sons. But  the  second  condition  is  not  entirely  neglected 
in  the  poem,  as  we  now  have  it.  The  genius  who 
moulded  all  its  alien  elements  into  such  a  grand  unity 
may  very  well  have  added  those  slight,  almost  uucon- 


118 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


scious  touclies  wliicli  constantly  appeal  to  our  sympathy. 
Indeed  the  latter  effect  is  most  frequently  produced 
where  it  is  not  planned  beforehand,  as  we  have  seen  in 
Hildebrand's  words  to  his  son  Hadubrand,  before  they 
ii'j'ht. 

O 

The  action  of  the  thirty-nine  Aventiures  is  so  continu- 
ous and  so  rich  in  details,  that  it  is  somewhat  difficult 
to  find  brief  illustrative  passages.  We  must  be  satisfied 
with  three  specimens,  not  better  than  many  others  in 
the  poem,  but  more  easily  detached  from  the  context : 
the  first  is  the  meeting  of  Chriemhild  and  Sieg- 
fried, after  the  latter  has  defeated  the  Saxons  and 
Danes : 


Do   Mez   der  kiinec   riclie  |  mit 

siner  swester  gan, 
die  ir  dienen  solden,  |  wol  liun- 

dert  siner  man, 
ir  und  siner  mage  :  |  die  truogen 

swert  enliant. 
daz  was  daz  hovegesinde   |  von 

der  Burgonden  lant. 


Tlien  ordered  for  liis  sister  |  the 

King  so  ricli  and  proud, 
A  hundred  men  of  battle  [  unto 

lier  service  vowed. 
For  lier  and  for  her  mother,  |  a 

sword  in  every  hand  : 
Such  were  tlie  royal  servants  |  in 

the  Burgundian  land. 


Nu  gie  diu  minnecliche   |    also 
der  morgeni'ot 

tuot  uz  den  triieben  wolken.  |  da 
sciet  von  maneger  not 

der  se  da  truog  in  herzen  |  und 

lange  het  getan  : 
er  sach   die   minneclichen   |  uu 

vil  herlichen  stan. 


There  came  the  fair  and  lova- 
ble I  as  comes  the  morning- 
glow 

From  clouds  that  would  obscure 
it.  I  And  gone  was  many  a 
woe 

From  him  who  in  his  bosom   | 
had  yearned  for  her  so  long  : 

He  saw  her  stand  before  him  | 
in  beauty  bright  and  strong. 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED. 


110 


Ja  luhte  ir  von  Ir  waete    |    vil 

manec  edel  stein  : 
ir   roseniotiu  varwe  |   vil  niin- 

necliclien  scein. 
ob   iemen   w  unseen   solde,  |  der 

kunde  nilit  gejelien 
daz   er  ze   dirre   werelde  |  liete 

iht  scoeners  geselien. 


Upon   lier  garment   sparkled  | 
full  many  a  jewel -stone  ; 

Her    rosiness     of     color    |    like 
purest  love-liglit  shone. 

Whatever  one  might  hope  for, 
I  yet  now  he  must  confess 

That  here  on  Earth  could  noth- 
ing I  surpass  her  loveliness. 


Sam  der  liehte  mane  |  vor   den 
sternen  stat, 

des   scin   so  luterliche  |  ab  den 

wolken  gat, 
dem  stuont   si  nu  geliche  |  vor 

maneger  frouwen  guot. 
des  wart  da  wol  gehoehet  |  den 

zieren  heleden  der  muot. 


Even  as  the  shining  full-moon 
I    comes     out     before     the 

stars, 
So   pure  in  powerful  lustre  |  it 

melts  the  cloudy  bars. 
So  verily  she  in  beauty  |  before 

all  ladies  there  : 
And  all  the  gay  young  heroes  ] 

were  proud  to  see  her  fair. 


Die  richen   kameraere  |  sah  man 

vor  in  gan. 
die  hohgemuoten  degene  |  die  'n 

wolden  daz  niht  Ian, 

sine  drungen  da  sie  sahen  |  die 

minneclichen  meit. 
Sivride  dem  herren  |  wart  beide 

lieb  unde  leit. 


Court- servants  made  a  passage, 

I  in  glittering  array. 
The  strong,  courageous  swords- 
men   I    followed    upon  her 
way  ; 
And  ever  pressed  and  crowded 

I  to  see  the  maiden  go. 
Now  this  was  unto  Siegfried  |  a 
joy  and  yet  a  woe. 


Erdahte  insinemmuote  :  |  "wie 
kunde  daz  ergan 

daz  ich  dich  mi nnen  solde  ?  |  daz 

ist  ein  tumber  wan. 
sol  aber  ich  dich  vremeden,  |  so 

waere  ich  sanfter  tot." 
er  wart  von  den   gedanken  |  vil 

dicke  bleich  unde  rot. 


Within  his  thought  he  ponder- 
ed: I  "  How  thought  I,  I  was 
fain 

With  love  of  man  to  woo  thee "? 
I  It  is  a  fancy  vain  : 

And  yet,  should  I  avoid  thee,  |  so 
were  I  earlier  dead." 

He  grew,  while  thus  a-thinking, 
I  oft  pale,  and  then  how 
often  red ! 


120 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


D6  stuont   so  miiinccliclie  |  daz 

Sigemundes  kint, 
sain  er  entworfen  waere  |  an  ein 

pertnint 
von  guotes  meisters  listen,  |  als 

man  ime  jach, 
daz  man  belt  deheineu  |  nie  so 

scoenen  gesacli. 


Tlic-y  saw  llio  son  cf  Sifglind,  | 
lover-like  standing  there, 

As  if  he  had  been  painted,  |  on 
parchment  clear  and  fair. 

By  hand  of  some  good  master  : 
I  'twas  pleasant  him  to  see, 

For  none  so  grand  a  hero  |  be- 
held before  as  he. 


Do  sprach  von  Burgonden  |  der 
herre  Gemot : 

der  iu   sinen  dienest  |  so   guet- 

lichen  bot, 
Gunther,   vil   lieber  bruoder,  | 

dem  suit  ir  tuon  alsam 
vor  alien  dis  en  recken  :  |  des  rats 

ich  nimmer  mich  gescam. 


Then  swiftly  spake   Lord   Ger- 
not,    I    of   the    Burgundian 
laud: 
"  To   him  who  did   us  service  | 
with  such  a  mighty  hand, 
To  him,  dear  brother  Gunther, 

I  now  offer  fitting  pay 
In  presence  of  the  warriors :  | 
no  man  will  scorn  my  say. 


"  Ir  heizet  Sivreden  |  zuo    miner 
swester  kumen, 
daz  in  diu  maget  grueze  :  |  des 
habe  wir  immer  f  rumen. 

diu  nie  gegruozte  recken,  |  diu 
sol  in  griiezen  piiegen  : 

da  mite  wir  haben  gewunnen  | 
den  vil  zierlichen  degen." 


"  Summon  straightway  Siegfried 
I  unto  our  sister  pure. 
That  so  the  maiden  greet  him  : 
I  'twill   bring  us  luck,  be 
sure  1 
She  who  never  greeted  heroes  | 

shall  grace  to  him  award, 
And  thereby  we  shall  win  us  | 
the  service  of  his  sword." 


Do  giengen  's  wirtes  mage  |  da 
man  den  helt  vant. 

si   sprachen  zuo  dem   recken  | 

iizer  Niderlant  : 
iu  hat   der  kiinec   erloubet,  |  ir 

suit  ze  hove  gan, 
sin  swester  sol  inch  griiezen  :  | 

daz  ist  zen  eren  iu  getan." 


The  King's  friends,  then  ad- 
vancing I  where  the  hero 
still  did  stand. 

Spake  to  the  mighty  warrior  | 
from  out  the  Netherland  : 
"  The  King's  will  hath  permitted 
I  that  you  to  court  repair  ; 

His  sister  there  shall  greet  you  : 
I  this  honor  shall  be  your 
share." 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED. 


121 


Der  lierre  in  sinem  muote  |  was 

des  vil  gemeit. 
do    truog   er   ime    lierzen  |  lieb 

ane  leit, 
daz  er  selien  solte  |  der  scoenen 

Uoten  kint. 

mit  minneclichen  tugenden  |  si 
gruozte  Sivriden  sint. 


The   hero,   gentle-hearted,  |  re- 
joiced to  hear  the  word  ; 

Love,  free  of  doubt  or  torment, 
I  in  all  his  senses  stirred, 

With  hope  that  Ute's  daughter, 
I  the   fair   one,   he   should 
see  : 

And  she  with  gentle  glances  | 
received  Siegfried  full  cour- 
teously. 


Do  si  den  hohgeniuoten  |  vor  ir 
stende  sach, 

do  erzunde  sich  sin  varwe.  |  diu 
scoene  magt  sprach  : 

sit  willekomen,  her  Sivrit,  |  ein 
edel  ritter  guot." 

do  wart  im  von  dem  gruoze  |  vil 
wol  gehoehet  der  muot. 


But  when  before  her  standing  | 
she     saw     him     bold    and 
proud. 
Like   flame   her   color  kindled  : 
I  the  Fair  One  spake  aloud  : 
"  Be  welcome  here,  Sir  Siegfried, 
I  a  noble  knight  and  true  ! " 
And  he  from  such  a  greeting  ]  a 
higher  courage  drew. 


Er  neig  ir  flizecliche  ;  |  bi  der 

hende  si  in  vie. 
wie  rehteminnecliche  |  erbider 

f rouwen  gie  [ 

mit   lieben   ougen   blicken  |  ein 
ander  sahen  an 

der  herre  und  ouch  diu  f rouwe  : 
I  daz  wart  vil  tougenlich 
getan. 


He  bowed  to  her  full  gently,  |  to 

thank  her  for  her  rede. 
Then  drew  them  towards  each 

other  I  love's   yearning  and 

its  need  ; 
With     eyes    that    shone    more 

fondly  I  each  then  the  other 

spied , 
The  hero  and  the  maiden  :  |  that 

glance  they  strove  to  hide. 


Wart  iht  da  friwentliche  |  get- 

wungen  wiziu  hant, 
von  herzen  lieber  minne,  |  daz 

ist  mir  uiht  bekant. 


If  then  some  softer  pressure  | 
on  her  white  hand  might  be. 

Love's  first  and  heart-sweet 
token —  I  it  is  unknown  to 
me. 


122 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


docla  enkan  ich  niht  gelouben  | 

daz  ez  wurde  Ian  : 
si  liet  im  liolden  willen  |  kunt 

vil  sciere  getan. 


But  yet  believe  I  cannot  |   that 

they  did  not  do  so  ; 
For  hearts  of  love    desirous  | 

were  wrong  to  let  it  go. 


Bi  der  sumerzite  |  und  gein  des 

meijen  tagen 
dorft   'er  in  sime  herzen  |  nim- 

mer  mer  getragen 
so  vil  der  hohen  vreude  |  denn' 

er  da  gewan, 
do  im  diu  gie  enhende  |  die  er  ze 

trute  wolde  hau. 


In  the  days  of  summer  |  and  in 

the  time  of  May, 
He  never  in  his  bosom  |  again 

might  bear  away 
So  much  of  highest  rapture  | 

as  in  that  hour  he  knew. 
Seeing  her  walk  beside  him,  | 

whom  he  so  wished  to  woo. 


Do  gedahte  manecrecke:  |  "hey 
waer'  mir  sam  gescehen, 

daz  ich  ir  gienge  enhende,  |  sam 

ich  in  han  gesehen, 
oder  bi  ze  ligene  !  |  claz  liez'  ich 

ane  haz." 
ez  gediente  noch  nie  recke  |  nach 

einer  kiiueginne  baz. 


Then  thought  many  a  swords- 
man :  —  I  "  Ha  !  if  I  were 
but  thou 

And  1  could   walk  beside  her  | 
as  I  see  thee  now, 

Or,  perhaps,  embrace  her —  |  I 
were  ready,  sure  !  " 

Xever   served    a  swordsman    | 
queen  so  good  and  pure. 


Von  swelher  kijnege  lande  |  die 

geste  komen  dar, 
die  namen  al  geliche  |  niwan  ir 

zweier  war. 
ir   wart   erloubet    klissen  |  den 

waetlichen  man  : 
im    wart    in    dirre    werlde  |  nie 

so  Hebe  getan. 


And  from  whatever  country  j  a 
guest  was  present  there. 

In  the  high  hall  was  nothing  | 
«     he  looked  on  but  this  pair. 

To  her  it  was  permitted   |  the 
gallant  man  to  kiss  : 

In  all  his  life  he  never  |  knew 
aught  so  dear  as  this. 


Der   Kiinec     von    Tenemarke 
der  sprach  sa  zestunt  : 


diss  vil  hohen  gruozes 
eger  ungesunt, 


lit  man- 


Began  the  King  of  Denmark,  | 

and    these     the    words    he 

si^ake  : 
Sure,   such  a  noble  greeting  [ 

here   many   a  wound   doth 

make  ; 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED. 


123 


des  icli  vil  wol   eupfinde,  |  von 

Sivrides  bant, 
got    enlaze   in   nimmer  mere  | 

komen     in    miniu    kiinge.s 

lant." 


As  I  around  me  notice,  |  and  all 
from  Siegfried's  hand  : 

God  grant  he  never  travel  |  into 
my  Danish  land." 


Tlie  whole  chapter  entitled  "How  Siegfried  was  slain," 
is  an  admirable  piece  of  narrative,  gay,  bright,  full  of 
joyous  action,  until  the  hero  is  treacherously  struck, 
when  it  becomes  as  simple  as  if  told  by  a  child.  These 
are  the  concluding  verses : 


"  Ir  miiget  inch  lihte  riiemen,"  | 
sprach  do  Sifrit. 

"  het  ich  an   in   erkennet   |   den 
mortlichen  sit, 

ich  hete   wol  behalten  vor  iu  | 

nimen  lip. 
mich   riuwet   niht   so  sere  |   st 

vrou  Kriemhilt  min  yv\^. 


"  You    may   lightly    boast,"   said 
Siegfried   |   of   the   Nether- 
land, 
"  But  had  I  known  your  purpose, 
I  against    your    murderous 
hand 
Had  I  full  well  protected    |   my 

body  and  my  life  : 
On  earth  I  grieve  for  nothing  | 
but   Dame   Chriemhild,  my 
wife. 


Nu  mlleze  got  erbarmen  |  deich 

ie  gewan  den  sun 
dem  man  daz  itewizen  ]  sol  nah 

den  ziten  tuon 
daz  sine  mage  iemen  |  mortliche 

ban  erslagen, 
miiht'  ich,"  so  sprach  Sifrit,  ] 
"  daz  sold'  ich  pilliche  klagen." 

Do  sprach  vil  jaemerliche  |  der 
verchwunde  man  : 

welt   ir,    kiinic   edele,  |  tiiuwen 
iht  began 


May  also  God  take  pity  |  on  the 

boy  I  leave  behind. 
Who  in  all  time  henceforward  | 

must  hear  the  taunt  unkind, 
That  his  own  friends  his  father 

I  have  murderously  slain. 
If  I  had   time,  with   justice  |  I 

might  of  that  com])lain." 

Then  mournfully  &])ake  fur- 
ther I  the  hero  nigh  to 
death  : 

O  noble  King,  if  ever  |  ye  drew 
a  faithful  breath, 


124 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


in  dcr  weilt  an  iemen,  |  lat  iu 

bevolhen  sin 
uf    iu^ver   genade    |    die   lieben 

triutinne  miu. 


If  ever  kept  ye  pledges,  |  I   do 

entreat  ye  here 
To  liold  in  grace  and  jiity  |  my 

sweetheart  fair  and  dear. 


"  Und  hit  si  des  geniezen  |  daz  si 

iuwer  swester  si. 
durch  aller  fiirsten    tugende  | 

wont  ir  mit  triuwen  bi. 
mir  miiezen  warten  lange  |  min 

vater  und  mine  man. 
ez  enwart  nie  vrouwen  leider  | 

an  liebem  vriunde  getan." 


"  Let  it  to  her  be  profit  |  that  she's 
your  sister  still : 

For  every  princely  virtue  |  com- 
mands your  faithful  will. 

For  me  my  land  and  father  |  will 
long  and  vainly  wait : 

Never  met  any  woman  |  from  a 
dear  spouse  such  bitter 
fate." 


Die  bluomen  allenthalben  |  von 

bluote  waren  naz. 
d6  rang  er  mit  dem  tode  :  |  un- 

lange  tet  er  daz, 

want  des  todes  waf  en  |  ie  ze  sere 

sneit. 
do  mohte  reden  niht  mere  |  der 

recke  kiieu'  unt  gemeit. 


The  blossoms  all  around  him  | 
wet  with  his  blood  became  : 

With  death  he  fiercely  strug- 
gled, I  not  long  he  did  the 
same  ; 

The  sword  of  death  was  on  him  | 
and  cut  him  very  sore  ; 

And   soon   the   noble   warrior  | 
could  speak  a  word  no  more. 


Do   die   herren  sahen 
helt  was  tot. 


daz   der 


si  leiten  in  uf  einen  schilt,  |  der 

was  von  golde  rot, 
und  wurden  des   ze   rate,  |  wie 

daz  solde  ergan 
daz  man  ez  verhaele  |  daz  ez  het 

Hagene  getan. 


Now  when  the  lords  beheld 
there  |  the  hero  pale  and 
cold, 

Upon  a  shield  they  laid  him,  | 
the  which  was  red  with  gold. 

Then   they  began  to   counsel  | 
how  further  to  proceed. 

That  none  would  learn  the  se- 
cret I  that  Hagen  did  the 
deed. 


Do  sprachen  ir  genuoge  :  |  "  uns 
ist  ilbele  geschehen. 

ir  suit  ez  heln  alle  |  unt  suit  gel- 
iche  jehen, 


After  this  wise  spake  many  :  | 
"An  evil  thing  is  done. 

We'll  hide  it  with  a  story,  |  and 
all  shall  say,  as  one, 


THE  JVIBEL  UNGEXLIED. 


125 


da    er    rite    jagen    eine,     |   der 

Kriemhilde  man, 
in    sliiegen    scachaere,   |   da   er 

fiiere  durch  den  tan." 

D6    spracli    von    Tronege    Ha- 

gene  :  |  "  ich  briuge'n  in  daz 

lant. 
mir  ist  vil  unniaere,  |  und  wirt 

ez  ir  bekant', 
diu  so  hat  betriibet  |  den  Priin- 

liilde  muot. 
ez  ahtet  micli  vil  ringe,  |  swaz 

si  wcinens  ffctuot." 


As  lie  alone  rode  hunting,  |  this 
sou  of  Siegmuud's  line, 

The  ruffian  robbers  slew  him  | 
among  the  woods  of  pine.  " 

Then  spake  von  Troneg  Hagen :  | 

"Him    home    myself    will 

bear, 
And  if  she  learn  who  did  it,  | 

for  that  I  shall  not  care. 
Yea,  she  that  vexed  Brunhiide  | 

before  the  people's  eyes. 
It  will  concern  me  little  |  if  now 

she  weeps  and  cries. " 


For  the  third  specimen,  I  will  take  a  jDassage  which 
Mr.  Carlyle  has  translated.  When  the  Nibelungen  come 
to  the  Danube,  on  their  way  to  the  Court  of  Attila  and 
Chriemhild,  they  are  at  a  loss  how  to  cross  the  river. 
Hagen  learns  from  the  mermaids  where  to  find  the  fer- 
ryman, and  is  ordered  by  them  to  call  himself  Amelrich, 
or  he  will  not  be  allowed  to  enter  the  boat.  When  this 
has  taken  place,  however,  and  the  ferryman  sees  that  it 
is  not  Amelrich  whom  he  has  taken  on  board,  he  wratli- 
fully  orders  Hagen  to  leap  on  shore  again : 


"  Nune  tuot  dcs  niht,"  sprach  Ha- 
gene :  |  "trurecistminmviot. 
nemet  von  mir  ze  niinue   |   ditze 
golt  \\\  guot. 

unt  filert  uns  iiber  tusent  ross  | 

unt  also  manigen  man." 
do  sprach  der  grimme  verge  :  | 
"daz  wirdet  nimmer  getan." 


Now  say  not  that,"  spake  Hagen ; 
I  "  Right  hard  am  I  bested. 

Take  from  me,  for  good  friend- 
ship, I  this  clasp  of  gold  so 
red  ; 

And  row  our  thousand  heroes  | 
and  steeds  across  this  river." 

Then  spake  the  wrathful  boat- 
man, I  "That  will  I  surely 
never." 


126 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Er  liuop   ein  starkes   ruodcr,  | 

michel  unde  breit, 
er  sluoc  ez  uf  Hagenen,    |    (des 

wart  er  ungemeit), 
daz  er  in  dem  schiffe   |    struclite 

uf  siniu  knie. 
s6  relite  grimmer  verge    |    kom 

dem  Tronegaere  nie. 


Then  one  of  his  oars  he  lifted,  | 

right  broad  it  was  and  long, 
He  struck  it  down  on  Hagon,  | 

did  the  hero  mickle  wrong, 
That  in  the  boat  he  staggered,  j 

and  alighted  on  his  knee  ; 
Other  such  wrathful  boatman  | 

did  never  the  Troneger  see. 


Do  wolde  er  baz  erziirnen   |   den 
iibermlieten  gast : 

er  sluoc  eine  schalten,  |  daz  diu 
gar  zerbrast, 

Hagenen  iiber  daz  houbet :   |   er 
was  ein  starker  man. 

da  von  der  Elsen  verge  |  grozen 
schaden  da  gewan. 


His  proud  unbidden  guest  |  he 
would  now  provoke  still 
more  ; 

He  struck  his  head  so  stoutly  | 
that  it  broke  in  twniu  the 
oar, 

With  strokes  on  head  of  Ha- 
gen ;  |  he  was  a  sturdy- 
wight  : 

Nathless  had  Gelfrat's  boat- 
man I  small  profit  of  that 
fight. 


Mit  grimmegem  muote   ]    greif 

Hagene  zehant 
vil  balde  z'einer  scheiden,   |    da 

er  ein  wafen  vant. 

er  sluoc  im  ab  daz  houbet  |  und 
warf  ez  an  den  grunt. 

diu  maere  wurden  schiere  |  den 
stolzen  Burgonden  kunt. 


With  fiercely-raging  spirit  |  the 
Troneger  turned  him  round, 

Clutch'd  quick  enough  his  scab- 
bard, I  and  a  weapon  there 
he  found ; 

He  smote  his  head  from  off 
him,  I  and  cast  it  on  the 
sand: 

Thus  had  that  wrathful  boat- 
man I  his  death  from  Ha- 
gen's  hand. 


Tliese  passages,  I  am  aware,  will  not  avail  to  give  an 
adequate  representation  of  the  whole  tone  and  atmo- 
sphere of  the  poem.  The  attractive  quaintness  and 
artlessness  of  the  old  dialect,  with  its  many  curious 


THE  NIBELUNOENLIEB.  127 

idiomatic  phrases,  cannot  be  preserved  in  our  modern 
English,  any  more  than  the  same  fresh  and  racy  flavor 
which  we  find  in  the  okler  English  of  Chaucer  and  Spen- 
ser. Neither  can  the  mere  skeleton  of  the  story,  as  I 
have  been  forced  by  want  of  space  to  give  it,  do  justice 
to  the  many  touches  which  constantly  soften  its  gather- 
ing chronicles  of  slaughter.  When  Riidiger,  who  obeys 
Attila's  command  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  goes  with  his 
warriors  to  attack  the  Nibelungen  in  the  fatal  banquet- 
hall,  gives  his  own  shield  to  Hagen,  to  replace  that 
which  has  been  hacked  to  pieces,  we  are  told  that 
"many  cheeks  were  red  with  weeping."  Gemot  and 
Geiselher  beg  Queen  Chriemhild  to  spare  their  lives, 
for  they  were  all  nursed  by  one  mother ;  but  when  she 
promises  to  do  so  if  only  Hagen,  the  murderer  of  Sieg- 
fried, be  given  up,  the  gallant  Kings  answer :  "  That  can 
never  be."  There  is  the  phantom  of  an  implacable  Fate 
behind  all  those  dreadfuhdeeds :  the  kings  and  warriors 
clearly  see  the  coming  doom,  and  they  meet  it  like 
heroes.  At  the  close,  we  have  forgotten  the  perfidy  of 
Hagen,  the  fury  of  Chriemhild,  the  meanness  of  Gun- 
ther,  the  weakness  of  Attila,  and  are  ready  to  join  in 
that  general  lamentation  which  indiscriminately  mourns 
all  the  slain. 

If  the  historical  tradition  of  the  Burgundian  King 
Gundicar  and  his  ten  thousand  warriors  falling  before 
Attila's  march  into  France,  be  the  exaggerated  form  of 
an  actual  occurrence,  this  maybe  one  of  the  bases  of  the 


128  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

^'Nihelungenlied.^^  Tlie  other  and  earlier  basis  is  Scan- 
dinavian saga,  not  liistorj, — or  history  in  mythological 
disguise.  The  only  other  facts  are  that  Attila's  first  wife, 
named  Herka,  is  certainly  the  Halke  of  the  epic;  while 
an  ancient  Hungarian  chronicle,  of  somewhat  doubtful 
character,  speaks  of  his  second  wife  as  Kriemheilch. 
Theodoric  and  Hildebrand  are  anachronisms,  not  to  be 
exj)lained  by  the  supposition  that  the  former  is  intended 
for  the  Visigoth,  Theodoric  I.  This  is  the  slender  root 
of  fact  to  which  hangs  the  wonderful  growth  of  so  many 
centuries. 

If  I  have  not  been  able  to  prove  it  to  you,  in  this  brief 
space,  I  trust  that  I  have  at  least  indicated  why  the 
^^ Nihelungenlied'"  may  be  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
poems  ever  written.  It  is  one  of  the  oldest  epics  of  our 
race.  But  when  the  enthusiastic  German  scholar  calls 
it  a  Gothic  Iliad,  he  uses  an  epithet  which  only  confuses 
our  ideas.  It  has  neither  the,  unity  nor  the  nobility  of 
style  wliich  we  find  in  Homer.  There  is  the  same  dif- 
ference as  between  a  Druid  circle  of  huge  granite  boul- 
ders, although  overgrown  with  ivy  and  wdld  blossoms 
and  encircled  by  a  forest  of  Northern  pine,  and  a  sym- 
metrical marble  temple  on  a  sunny  headland  beside  the 
blue  sea.  The  world  has  fallen  into  a  bad  habit  of  nam- 
ing everything  after  something  else.  Let  us  call  the 
Greek  epic  the  ''Iliad,'"  and  the  old  German  epic  of  the 
people  nothing  else  but  the  '' NUxdungenlied.'''' 

In  regard  to  that  unknown  man,  whose  genius,  in  the 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  129 

tliirteentli  century,  sealed  and  transmitted  to  us  the 
precious  inheritance,  I  cannot  do  better  than  repeat 
Carlyle's  words :  "His  great  strength  is  an  unconscious, 
instinctive  strength ;  wherein  truly  lies  his  highest  merit. 
The  whole  spirit  of  Chivalry,  of  Love  and  heroic  Yalor 
must  have  lived  in  him  and  inspired  him.  Everywhere 
he  shows  a  noble  sensibility ;  the  sad  accents  of  parting 
friends,  the  lamentings  of  women,  the  high  daring  of 
men,  all  that  is  worthy  and  lovely  prolongs  itself  in 
melodious  echoes  through  his  heart.  A  true  old  Singer, 
and  taught  of  Nature  herself !  Neither  let  iis  call  him 
an  inglorious  Milton,  since  now  he  is  no  longer  a  mute 
one.  What  good  were  it  that  the  four  or  five  letters 
composing  his  name  could  be  printed,  and  pronounced 
with  absolute  certainty?  All  that  is  mortal  in  him  is 
gone  utterly :  of  his  life,  and  its  environment,  as  of  the 
bodily  tabernacle  he  dwelt  in,  the  very  ashes  remain 
not :  like  a  fair,  heavenly  Apparition,  which  indeed  he 
was,  he  has  melted  into  air,  and  only  the  Yoice  he 
uttered,  in  virtue  of  its  inspired  gift,  yet  lives  and  will 
live." 

It  is  difficult  to  ascertain,  at  this  distance  of  time, 
whether  any  stimulus  was  given  to  the  popular  forms 
of  poetry  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  by  the 
poetry  of  the  courts ;  but  the  latter  certainly  gave  license 
- — which,  in  literature,  is  life, — to  the  former.  The  same 
phenomena,  of  course,  would  be  found  in  both  circles. 
Even  as  the  renown  of  AYalther,  Wolfram,  Gottfried  and 
6* 


130  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Hartmanu  would  call  into  life  a  liost  of  inferior  min- 
strels, so  the  popularity  of  the  '^ Nihelungenlied"  would 
inspire  imitations,  rival  epics,  based,  like  itself,  on  older 
lays,  and  even  fanciful  continuations  of  the  same  story. 
Many  of  these  still  remain,  but  I  can  only  mention  a 
single  one  of  them — "  The  Lament,"  which  some  consider 
to  be  of  earlier  origin  than  the  latest  form  of  the  "Nihe- 
lungen."  It  commences  where  the  latter  terminates 
— in  the  castle  of  Attila,  among  the  corpses  left  by  the 
great  slaughter.  It  is  written  in  the  short  couplet,  which 
we  have  already  met  in  ^'■Tristan'''  and  "Farzival,"  and 
the  inferiority  of  which  to  the  Nibelungen  verse  we  feel 
more  clearly  than  ever,  if  we  take  it  up  immediately  after 
the  latter.  It  is  a  weaker  hand,  which  endeavors  to  ex- 
press that  woe  which  the  master  only  dared  to  indicate ; 
but  there  is  one  really  touching  passage,  where  Theo- 
doric  calls  upon  the  people  to  cease  from  weeping, 
through  God's  help ;  and  the  author  says :  "  as  much  as 
they  promised  it  to  him,  yet  did  they  not  do  it."  When 
the  dead  have  all  been  lamented,  the  minstrel  Schwem- 
mel  is  sent  as  a  messenger,  to  bear  the  news  to  "Worms. 
Frau  Ute,  the  mother  of  the  three  Kings  and  Chriem- 
hild,  dies  of  sorrow :  the  amazon  Brunhild  falls  sense- 
less; and  the  young  Siegfried,  her  son  and  Gunther's, 
is  proclaimed  King  of  the  Nibelungen. 

Of  the  other  epics  or  epical  fragments  which  have 
been  saved,  I  will  only  mention  "Gudrun,''  as  the  most 
complete  in  form,  and  the  next  in  literary  character, 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  131 

after  the  " Nibelunjenlied.'"  The  subject,  however,  be- 
longs to  a  diflferent  sagenJcreis,  or  legendary  circle :  the 
scene  is  laid  alternately  in  Ireland,  Wales  and  on  the 
Saxon  shores  of  the  North  Sea.  The  same  subject  has 
very  recently  been  used  by  a  living  poet,  Mr.  William 
Morris,  in  "  The  Lovers  of  Gudrun," — one  of  the  narra- 
tives in  his  "  Earthly  Paradise."  This  circumstance,  at 
least,  may  increase  your  curiosity  to  explore  a  field  of 
literature  so  long  forgotten  to  Germany,  and  even  now 
almost  unknown  to  the  very  race  whose  civilization 
flowed  from  the  same  original  fountain.  If  we,  as 
Americans,  in  the  national  sense,  have  an  equal  share  in 
Shakespeare,  Spenser  and  Chaucer,  with  our  English 
brethren,  so  the  Gothic  and  Saxon  blood  in  our  veins 
claims  the  inheritance  of  the  " Hildebrandslied "  and 
the  early  Nibelungen  legends  as  fully  as  the  German 
peoj)le. 

I  have  not  now  time  to  repeat  the  story  of  Gudrun 
and  her  lovers,  of  her  brother  Ortwin,  and  her  betrothed, 
Herwig,  of  her  captivity,  and  her  hard  service  as  a 
washerwoman  by  the  sea-shore,  of  the  fierce  battle  which 
released  her,  the  joy  of  her  mother  Hilde,  and  the  mar- 
riage of  all  the  principal  characters,  which  happily 
closes  the  thirty-two  Avcntiures  of  the  poem.  Its  char- 
acter seems  almost  idyllic  when  contrasted  with  the- 
tragedy  of  the  " Nihelungenlicd.''''  Perhaps  this  distinc- 
tion may  be  felt,  in  the  single  quotation  which  I  shall 
give,  where   Horant,  the  "  storm-eagle "  of   Denmark, 


132 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


appears  as  a  minstrel  at  tlie  Court  of  Hagen,  Gudrun's 
father : 


Do  sich  dill  naht  verendet  |  und 

ez  begunde  tagen, 
H6rant  begunde  singen,  |  daz  da 

bi  in  den  hagen 
geswigen  alle  vogele    (   von  si- 

nem  siiezen  sange. 
die  liute,  die  da  sliefen,    |    die 

enlagen  do  nisvet  lange. 


Sin  liet  erklang  im  shone,   |   ie 

hoher  and  ie  baz. 
Hageneezselbe  horte;  |  bi  sineni 

wibe  er  saz. 
uz  der  kemenaten  |  muosten  s'in 

die  zinne. 
der  gast  wart  wol  beraten.    |    ez 

horte  ez    diu    junge    kiini- 

giune. 


Now  when  the  night  was  end- 
ed I  and  it  was  near  to  dawn, 

Horiint  began  his  singing,  |  and 
all  the  birds  were  drawn 

To  silence  in  the  hedges,  |  be- 
cause of  his  sweet  song  ; 

And  the  folk  who  still  were 
sleeping,  |  when  they  heard 
him  slept  not  long. 

Sweetly  to  them  it  sounded,  j  so 
loud  and  then  so  low  ; 

And  also  Hagen  heard  it,  |  with 
his  ^\ife  of  rose  and  snow. 

Forth  they  came  from  the  cham- 
ber, 1  tothe  hangingbalcony; 

As  the  minstrel  wished,  it  hap- 
pened; I  for  the  young  Queen 
heard  the  melody. 


Des  wilden  Hagenen  tohter  |  und 
ouch  ir  magedin, 

die  sazen  unde  loseten,  |  daz  diu 
vogellin 

vergazin  ir  doene  |  uf  dem  hove 

frone, 
wol  horten  ouch  die  helde,  [  daz 

der  von  Tenemarke  sane  s6 

schone. 


The  daughter  of  wild  Hagen,  | 

and  her  maidens  highest  and 

least. 
They  sat  and  silently  listened,  | 

while  the  songs  of  the  small 

birds  ceased. 
About  the  court  of  the  castle,  | 

and  the  heroes  also  heard. 
How  the  minstrel  of  Denmark 

chanted,    |    so   sweetly  the 

souls  of  all  were  stirred. 


Do  wart  im  gedauket  |  von  wiben 

und  von  man. 
d6  sprach  von  Tenen  Fruote:  | 
"  min  neve  mohte  s'lan. 


He  was  thanked  by  every  woman, 
I  and  after  by  all  the  men. 

And  out  of  the  guests  of  Denmark, 
I   spake  bold  Fruote  then  : 


THE  NIB  EL  UXOENLIED. 


133 


sin  ungef  iiege  doenc,  I  die  ich  in  "My    nephew   sllo^^ld    leave   liis 


hoere  singen, 

wem  mag  er  ze  dienste  |  als  un- 
gef iiege  tagewise  bringen  ? " 


singing  :  |  'tis  too  unskilful- 
ly played : 
To  whom  may  he  be  bringing  | 
this  awkward  morning  sere- 
nade?" 


Do  sprachen  Hagenen  helde :  | 
"  herre,  lat  vernemen: 

niemen  lebet   so   siecher,    |    im 

mohte  wol  gezemen 
hoeren  sine  stimme,  |  diu  get  uz 

sin  em  munde." 

daz  wolde   got  von  himele,"  | 
sprach  der  kiinic,  "daz  ich 
sie  selbe  kunde." 


Answered   Hagen,   the  hero :  ] 
"  My  lord,  let  me  know  your 
mind ! 

Xo  one  unsmote  by  sickness  [* 
could  pleasure  fail  to  find 

In  the  beautiful  voice  that  Com- 
eth I  out  of  his  mouth  so 
true : " 

Said  the  King  :  ' '  Would  to  God 
in  heaven  |  that  I  myself  the 
same  could  do  ! " 


D(5  er  due  doene   |    sunder  vol 
gesanc, 

alle  die  ez  horten,  |  duhte  ez  niht 
so  lane, 

sie  heten'z  niht  geahtet   |   einer 

hande  wile, 
obe  er  solde  singen,  |  daz  einer 

mcihte  riten  tusent  mile. 


When  he  had  sung  three  mea- 
sures, I  even  to  the  end  each 
song, 

Every  one  thought  who  heard 
them,  I  the  time  was  not  so 
long. 

They  had  not  thought  it  longer  | 
than  the  turning  of  a  hand, 

Though  he  sang  while  one  were 
riding  |  a  thousand  miles 
across  the  land. 


Here  tliere  is  altogetlier  a  softer,  more  lyrical  spirit 
tlian  in  the  " Nihelungeny  Something  of  the  sentiment  of 
the  Minnesingers  has  been  incorporated  into  the  older 
legend,  and  it  takes  not  only  the  form  but  also  the  feeling 
of  the  later  age.  Gervinus  says — and  in  this  sense  we 
may  admit  the  comparison — that  "Gudrmi"  bears  the 


134  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

same  relation  to  the  ^' Nihelimgenlied^'  as  the  "Oclyssoj"  to 
the  "Iliad : "  "it  has  many  qualities,"  he  adds,  "which  we 
would  willingly  see  added  to  the  greater  epic.  It  avoids 
the  dry,  colorless  manner  of  narration,  without  adopting 
the  hollow  love  of  ornament  of  the  courtly  poets.  Both 
jjoems  may  claim  an  immortal  honor  for  the  nation. 
They  reach  equally  far  into  time  with  their  deeds,  cus- 
toms and  views  of  life, — and  into  those  times,  whereof 
the  prejudiced  Roman  enemies  reported  the  bravery 
and  barbarism,  but  also  the  fidelity  and  honesty,  the 
honor  and  chastity  of  our  venerable  ancestors." 

So  far  I  may  quote  and  accept  the  views  of  the  great 
historian  of  German  literature ;  but  when  he  compares 
these  epics  with  the  "inflated  and  disgusting  British 
romances,"  referring  to  the  legends  of  Arthur  and  the 
Holy  Grail,  he  shows  rather  the  egotism  of  his  blood 
than  the  impartial  vision  of  his  calling. 

But,  in  reality,  we  need  no  critical  guide  for  this 
period,  when  we  have  once  mastered  the  language. 
There  was  no  elaborate  art,  even  for  the  most  accom- 
plished of  the  courtly  minstrels :  each  expressed  what 
he  knew,  without  those  disguises  or  affectations  of 
deej^er  wisdom  which  are  common  in  a  more  highly 
developed  age.  The  popular  epics  are  as  frank  and 
transparent  as  the  unlettered  human  nature  of  the  race, 
and  it  is  not  the  least  of  their  many  excellent  qualities 
that  they  inspire  us  with  a  better  respect  for  that  nature, 
since  it  produced  them. 


V. 

THE  LITERATUEE  OF  THE  REFORMATION. 

The  fourteentli  and  tlie  fifteentli  centuries  seem,  at  first 
sight,  to  present  nearly  a  blank  in  the  history  of  Ger- 
man literature,  and  it  would  greatly  simplify  my  task 
if  I  could  omit  all  notice  of  them,  and  pass  at  once 
to  the  new  spirit  which  was  born  with  the  Reforma- 
tion, and  partly  because  of  it.  Such  an  omission,  how- 
ever, would  leave  unexplained  the  manner  of  a  change 
which  distinguishes  the  German  literature  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  from  that  which  succeeded  it  after  so  long  an 
interval.  The  two  intervening  centuries  were  in  some 
respects  the  darkest  in  mediseval  history ;  they  were 
certainly  the  most  confused  ;  and  whether  we  take  the 
political,  the  religious  or  the  literary  element,  we  shall 
have  equal  difficulty  in  finding  an  easy  path  through 
the  chaos. 

With  the  fall  of  the  Hohenstaufen  dynasty  the  power 
of  the  German  Emperors  in  Italy  was  broken,  to  be 
soon  entirely  lost.  The  same  result  which  attended 
the  partial  religious  enfranchisement  of  Germany  fol- 
lowed the  political  enfranchisement  of  Italy  :  the  stars 
of  Dante  and  Petrarch  rose,  as  those  of  Walther  and 

135 


136  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Wolfi'am  set.  Art  and  Literature  revived  tliere,  under 
the  new  republics,  but  in  Germany  the  successors  of 
the  Hohenstaufens  were  men  of  a  very  different  stamp. 
Hudolf  of  Hapsburg  first  set  the  example  of  a  narrov/ 
attention  to  the  affairs  of  his  race,  but  he  was  no  lover 
of  the  minstrels— and  perhaps  with  good  reason.  The 
mediaeval  passion  for  song  began  at  the  top  and  worked 
downward,  from  reigning  princes  and  poetic  knights, 
through  the  subordinate  classes  of  society.  By  the 
end  of  the  thirteenth  century  the  aristocratic  power  of 
production  was  exhausted,  while  the  popular  element 
— in  spite  of  the  "Nibclungenlied"  and  "Gudrim" — had 
not  yet  worked  its  way  upward  to  influence  the  tastes 
or  instincts  of  the  higher  classes.  There  was  no  prose 
literature  as  yet,  and  nearly  a  hundred  years  more 
elapsed  before  the  official  documents  and  records  of 
the  country  were  written  in  the  German  language. 

We  can  hardly  wonder  that  courtly  j)atronage  was 
withheld,  when  the  minstrels  had  come  to  be  bores, 
both  in  their  numbers  and  in  the  quality  of  their  songs. 
The  largesse  bestowed  on  a  few  lucky  ones  tempted 
great  numbers  of  poor,  ambitious,  half-educated  nobles 
to  adopt  the  profession,  and  Germany  began  to  resound 
with  the  strains  of  hungry,  pretentious  and  not  even 
elegant  mediocrity.  Then  began  the  rivalry  of  the  im- 
perial candidates,  the  fierce  discussion  between  emperor 
and  nobles,  the  petty  feuds  of  several  hundred  reigning 
princes,  counts  and  prelates, — the  appearance  of  a  grow- 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  REFORMATION.      137 

iug  middle  class, — all  these  causes  resulting  iu  constant 
war  or  menace  of  war.  Pestilence,  in  new  and  fearful 
forms,  followed  by  famine,  swept  over  Europe ;  Huss 
came,  and  was  burned,  leaving  a  sword  behind  him 
which  was  not  sheathed  until  nearly  two  hundred  and 
fifty  years  had  passed ;  and  the  forerunners  of  the 
modern  time  appeared,  as  the  mariner's  compass,  gun- 
jDowder,  watches  and  the  art  of  printing.  Yet,  during 
this  season  of  agitation  and  conflict  and  violence,  the 
basis  of  a  new  literature  was  laid,  partly  through  the 
revival  of  the  ancient  instincts  of  the  people,  and  partly 
from  the  stimulus  of  coming  religious  and  political 
struggles. 

The  two  literary  forces  which  were  so  marked  in  the 
Hohenstaufen  period  continue  to  be  distinguished  for 
some  time  afterward.  Both  the  courtly  and  the  poj)u- 
lar  minstrels  followed  for  a  while  the  same  retrograde 
jjath.  Even  as  they  had  evolved  the  epic  from  ballad 
material,  they  now  began  to  take  epic  subjects  and, 
from  deficiency  of  j)ower,  to  treat  them  as  ballads; 
and,  as  is  always  the  case,  their  vanity  and  arrogance 
increased  in  projiortion  as  their  performance  became 
contemptible.  We  have  but  to  read  a  few  pages  of 
Hugo  von  Montfort,  Oswald  von  Wolkenstein,  or  Al- 
brecht's  ''TitureJ,"  to  see  the  decadence  of  the  courtly 
poetry  ;  or  of  Kaspar  von  der  Koen  and  Ulric  Fiiterer, 
to  see  how  the  popular  poetry  kept  pace  with  it  down- 
ward.    The  one  man  who,  iu  imitation  of  Petrarch,  was 


138  GERM  A  J^  LITERATURE. 

crowned  by  tlie  Emperor,  Frederic  III.,  in  tlie  fifteenth 
century,  was  Conrad  Celtes,  whom  we  do  not  know  as  a 
poet.  A  single  fact  may  be  mentioned,  to  show  the 
utter  absence  of  the  most  ordinary  literary  instinct  in 
that  period.  A  Baron  von  Eapoltstein,  who  perceived 
that  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  had  omitted  from  his 
'^FarzivaV  many  episodes  of  the  original  legend,  which 
would  not  harmonize  with  his  poem,  employed  a  Jew 
to  translate,  and  a  scribe  to  write  for  him,  all  these  ejDi- 
sodes,  which,  turned  into  the  worst  doggrel  by  himself, 
he  then  published  as  a  continuation  of  Wolfram's  great 
work!  Even  the  " Theiieirlank  "  of  the  Emperor  Maxi- 
milian, although  it  must  have  been  immensely  admired 
by  the  courtiers,  is  too  stupid  to  be  read  by  any  healthy 
person  now-a-days.  The  scholar  Vilmar,  with  all  his 
apparent  reverence  for  Maximilian,  cannot  help  say- 
ing :  "  the  '  Theueixlanh '  now  rests  in  the  dust  of  the 
libraries,  even  as  the  noble  Maximilian  in  the  mould  of 
his  imperial  vault.  Let  us  leave  them  in  peace,  the 
great  Emperor  and  his  little  book  !  " 

About  the  only  conclusion  we  can  draw  from  the 
examination— I  will  not  say  the  study — of  those  inferior 
works,  is  this :  that  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  was  the 
one  master  wdiom  the  degenerate  poets  imitated  in  epic 
narrative,  and  Walther  von  der  Yogelweide  was  their 
model  in  Minne-song.  They  must,  therefore,  have  en- 
joyed a  popularity  in  their  own  day,  and  have  made  an 
impression  strong  enough  to  be  inherited  by  the  com- 


TUE  LITERATURE  OF  TUE  REFOR3IATfON.      139 

iug  generations, — ^just  as  now  no  one  dares  to  dispute 
Milton's  or  Dryden's  place,  tliougli  so  few  read  tliem. 
In  the  popular  poems,  a  didactic  element  gradually  be- 
came apparent,  possibly  encouraged  by  the  continued 
reproduction  of  tlie  much  older  poem  of  "Bcinec'ke 
Fos,"  which  appeared,  in  the  latest  and  best  version,  in 
Liibeck,  in  the  year  1498.  This  is  another  of  those 
works  which  come  down  to  us,  like  the  "JSfihclungen- 
Ued,"  out  of  an  impenetrable  mist.  We  cannot  say  when 
or  where  it  originated :  we  only  know  that  it  also  grew 
by  the  accretion  of  scattered  fragments  or  independent 
fables,  that  it  was  twice  written  in  Latin,  under  the 
name  of  "Heinardus,"  in  Flanders,  in  the  twelfth  century, 
that  it  soon  after  (or,  possibly,  even  earlier)  entered 
French  and  German  literature,  was  retold  by  an  unknown 
German  author  in  the  thirteenth  century,  and  about  the 
same  time  by  William  de  Matoc,  in  Dutch, — some  of  these 
versions  containing  from  fifty  to  one  hundred  thousand 
lines.  I  cannot  undertake  more  than  the  mere  mention 
of  this  remarkable  work,  not  because  it  does  not  deserve 
it,  but  simply  because  it  seems  to  have  exercised  no  very 
important  influence  upon  German  literature,  in  compari- 
son with  the  heroic  epics.  It  contains,  in  fact,  so  much 
shrewd  knowledge  of  human  nature,  so  much  wit  and 
vivacity,  and,  as  a  story,  is  constructed  with  such  un- 
doubted skill,  that  when  Goethe  undertook  to  reproduce 
it  in  his  own  finished  hexameters,  he  did  not  dare  to 
change  the  original  in  any  essential  particular.     But, 


140  OERMAN  LITERATURE. 

"Iie{n£c7:e  FticJis"  is  a  compouucl  fable,  born  of  those 
times  wlieu  the  fox,  the  lion,  the  wolf,  the  bear,  the  ass 
and  the  liare  were  made  the  object  of  that  satire  which 
the  author  was  not  at  liberty  to  fling  openly  nj^on  their 
human  representatives.  Fable  is  the  refuge  of  the  poet 
when  his  people  are  barbarous  and  his  ruler  despotic. 
As  soon  as  he  may  venture  to  satirize  and  scourge  the 
vices  of  classes,  and  then  of  individual  characters,  its 
office  is  at  an  end.  For  men  are  always  more  legiti- 
mately his  theme  than  beasts,  and  Fable  is  only  gene- 
rally popiilar  among  restricted  and  undeveloped  races, 
or  with  children  in  passing  through  the  corresponding 
stage  of  growth.  Not  even  Goethe's  genius,  and  Kaul- 
bach's  after  him,  can  make  men  read  "JReinecke  FiicJis" 
at  this  day.  It  impresses  us  as  a  performance  of  masked 
figures,  and  we  prefer  to  see  the  full  range  of  undis- 
guised human  expression  on  the  stage.  I  find  very  lit- 
tle evidence  that  the  older  poem  contributed  toward 
the  development  of  even  the  humorous  element  in  Ger- 
man literature.  It  is  an  illustration,  and  a  valuable  one ; 
but  in  dealing  with  the  direct  and  powerful  influences, 
the  effects  of  which  we  can  trace  from  century  to  cen- 
tury, it  must  be  set  aside,  to  be  considered  afterward 
from  an  independent  point  of  view. 

There  are  records,  nevertheless,  left  by  the  fourteenth 
and  the  fifteenth  centuries, which  possess  a  genuine  inter- 
est for  us.  Unnoticed  at  the  time,  much  of  the  material 
must  have  died,  as  naturally  as  it  originated,  ignorant 


TUE  LITERATURE  OF  TUE  REF0RMATI02T.      141 

of  its  own  value ;  but  here  and  tliere  a  little  song  or 
ballad,  like  the  English  Reliques  gathered  by  Percy  and 
Ellis,  has  survived  the  storms  of  the  ages.  The  popular 
songs — by  which  I  mean,  not  those  written  for  the  peo- 
ple, in  imitation  or  continuation  of  the  earlier  heroic 
ballads  or  epics,  but  those  written  by  the  people  them- 
selves,— nay,  not  written,  only  sung,  verse  sprouting  from 
verse  as  simply  as  leaf  from  leaf  on  a  plant— these  songs 
show  that  we  have  found  a  new  spirit.  They  are  an 
evidence  that  the  impulse  from  above,  under  the  Ho- 
henstaufens,  has  at  last  touched  bottom,  and  quick- 
ened the  latent  poetic  instinct  of  the  people,  which 
begins  to  speak  with  the  childish  stammer  of  a  new  lan- 
guage. 

Take,  for  example,  this  little  "  Trooper's  Song,"  from 
the  fifteenth  century,  hinting  of  plunder,  but  very  bold 
and  spirited : 


Woluf,  ir  lieben  gsellen, 
die  uns  gebruodert  sein, 
und  raten  zuo  !  wir  wcillen 
dort  prassen  iibei-  Rein  ; 
es  kuiiit  ein  f  risclier  summer, 
daruf  icli  mein  sacli  setz, 
als  ie  lenger,  ie  dixmmer  : 
bin  hin  !  wetz,  eber,  wetz  ! 
wack,  liuetlein,  in  dem  gfretz  ! 


Up  and  away,  good  comrades, 
Ye  gallant  brothers  mine, 
Eide  fast !  it  is  our  purpose 
To  dash  beyond  the  Rhino. 
There  comes  a  fine  fresh  summer 
And  i)romises  good  store  : 
The  longer  'tis,  the  better  ; 
Up,  whet  your  tusks,  old  boar  ! 
The  pasture  waits  once  more. 


Dor  sumor  sol  uns  bringeu 
ein  frischen  frcien  muot, 
leicht  tuot  uns  irn  gelingen, 
so  kum  wir  hinder  guot ; 


The  summer,  it  shall  bring  us 
Good  luck  and  courage  pure  : 
Success  for  us  is  easy, 
And  gay  return  is  sure. 


142  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

sie  sein  vil  e  erritten,  Many  rode  out  before  us 

dan  graben,  dise  schetz,  And  treasure  found  in  store ; 

wir  ban  uus  lang  gelitten  :  We're  starved  too  long  already; 

bin  bin  !  wetz,  eber,  wetz  !  Up,  wbet  your  tusks,  old  boar  ! 

wack,  biietlein,  in  dem  gfretz  !  Tbe  pasture  waits  once  more. 

Drumb  last  ucb  nit  crscbreck-  Tben  be  not  slow  or  timid, 
en, 

ir  friscben  krieger  stolz  !  Ye  troopers,  fresb  and  good  ! 

wir  ziebeu  durcb  die  becken  We'll  break  tbrougb  bedge  and 

tbicket, 

und  rumpeln  in  das  bolz  ;  And  crasb  across  tbe  wood  ! 

man  wird  nocb  unser  geren  Ours  sball  be  name  and  bonor 

und  nit  acbten  so  letz,  As  good  as  any  wore  : 

all  ding  ein  weil  tuon  weren :  Wbat  otbers  do,  we'll  do  it : 

bin  bin  !  wetz,  eber,  wetz  !  Up,  wbet  your  tusks,  old  boar  ! 

wack,  biietlein,  in  dem  gfretz  !  Tbe  pasture  waits  once  more. 

I  tliiuk  it  requires  but  a  slight  familiarity  with  the 
German  language,  to  feel  the  complete  variation  in 
tone  and  spirit  between  these  verses  and  those  of  the 
Minnesingers.  The  movement,  the  character,  almost 
the  language,  is  that  of  modern  song :  so  might  Theodor 
Korner  have  written,  had  he  lived  in  those  days. 

This  popular  poetry  grew  up  simultaneously  with 
another  variety  of  lyric  art  which  I  must  mention  here, 
since  it  can  be  traced  back  to  the  middle  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  although  its  period  of  bloom  was  much 
later.  It  is  the  most  remarkable  phenomenon  in  the 
intellectual  history  of  any  people.  One  who  is  unac- 
quainted with  the  development  of  German  literature 
might  well  be  pardoned  for  doubting  it.  The  fact  that 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  j^ersons  organized  for  the 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  REFORMATION     143 

purpose  of  vrriting  poetry,  and  kept  up  tlieir  organiza- 
tion for  centuries,  seems  incredible.  Wliat  is  called  tlie 
Meistergesang  in  Germany  (master-poetry,  though  a  bet- 
ter translation  is  trade -poetry)  was  the  successor  of  the 
Minnegesang,  and  there  is  some  reason  for  conjecturing 
that  Frauenlob,  the  last,  and,  to  my  thinking,  the  poor- 
est of  the  Minnesingers,  was  one  of  the  first  Masters  of 
the  trade.  When  the  organized  societies  had  existed 
for  some  time  throughout  Germany,  and  traditions  of 
former  generations  of  professional  singers  began  to 
gather  about  them,  an  attempt  was  made  to  give  a  Ma- 
sonic mystery  and  antiquity  to  the  craft;  but  it  is  not 
officially  mentioned  in  documents  before  the  close  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  and  there  is  no  evidence  what- 
ever that  any  of  the  guilds  were  in  existence  before  the 
year  1300.  The  mechanics,  singularly  enough,  were 
among  the  first  to  enroll  themselves,  and  it  is  probable 
that  the  conservatism  of  their  class  was  the  chief  means 
of  sustaining  these  guilds  of  song  for  five  hundred 
years;  for,  although  the  famous  school  of  Nuremberg 
was  closed  in  1770,  the  last  songs  were  sung  by  the 
twelve  masters  of  Ulm,  in  the  year  1330. 

A  rapid  sketch  of  the  nature  and  regulations  of  one 
of  these  master-schools  must  not  be  omitted.  Eacli 
cit}'  had  its  own  laws  and  customs,  but  the  constitution 
of  all  was  similar.  The  general  method,  according  to 
which  all  songs  must  be  written — called  the  Tabulatur 
— was  first  adopted.     Then  the  members  of  the  guild 


144  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

were  divided  according  to  tlieir  knowledge  and  still. 
Those  still  ignorant  of  the  rhythmical  laws  were  called 
"Pupils;"  those  acquainted  with  those  laws,  "School- 
friends;"  those  who  knew  several  "tones"  (forms  of 
verse),  were  "Singers;"  those  who  were  able  to  compose 
new  words  to  the  old  tones,  were  "Poets;"  and,  finally, 
those  capable  of  inventing  a  new  tone,  were  "  Masters." 
Frauenlob,  for  instance,  was  the  inventor  of  thirty-five  • 
such  new  tones.  The  names  given  to  them  were  very 
curious  and  ludicrous.  In  his  "  Hyperion,"  Longfellow 
mentions  the  "  flowery-paradise-measure,  the  frog-mea- 
sure, and  the  looking-glass-measure," — and  he  might 
also  have  added  "  the  much-too-short-sunset-measure, 
the  striped-saffron-flower-measure,  the  English-tin-mea- 
sure, the  blood-gleaming-wire-measure,  the  fat-badger- 
measure,  the  yellow-lion' s-hide-measure,  and  the  de- 
ceased-glutton-measure ! " 

When  the  guild  assembled,  three  ofiicials,  called  the 
3Ierkcr,  took  their  seats  upon  a  raised  platform ;  their 
business  was  to  listen  sharply,  detect  faults  in  the 
singers,  and  either  punish  or  reward  them  according  to 
their  deserts.  The  rules,  in  this  respect,  were  very 
strict :  among  the  crimes  were  not  only  unusual  words, 
slight  rhythmical  changes  or  variations  in  the  melody, 
but  even  what  were  called  "  false  opinions."  Whoever 
succeeded  in  fulfilling  all  the  laws  of  the  Tahiihtur,  and 
was  therefore  perfect  in  the  trade,  received  a  silver 
chain  to  which  a  medal,  containing  the  head  of  King 


THE  LITEIIATURE   OF  HIE  REFORMATIOX.      14.j 

David,  was  atfcacliecl :  the  second  prize  was  a  wreatli  of 
artificial  llowers  made  of  silk. 

When  we  consider  that,  from  first  to  last,  this  institu- 
tion of  the  Master-Song  existed  five  hundred  years,  and 
that  every  considerable  town  in  Germany  had  its  guild, 
we  may  guess  what  a  colossal  quantity  of  mechanical 
poetry  was  produced.  On  the  other  hand,  we  shall  not 
wonder  that  so  little  of  it  has  survived.  The  Eeforma- 
tion  only  strengthened  it  by  giving  it  a  religious  char- 
acter, and  the  Thirty  Years'  War  probably  only  made 
the  blood-gleaming-wire-measure  more  common,  for  it 
hardly  shook  a  single  society  out  of  existence.  Of  the 
thousands  of  Masters  who  lived  and  died,  only  one — 
the  greatest — has  been  much  heard  of  outside  of  Ger- 
many, and  that  is  Hans  Sachs,  of  Nuremberg,  the  writer 
of  more  than  six  thousand  poems  and  dramatic  pieces. 
Even  he,  though  the  later  poets  and  the  modern  critics 
of  Germany  have  recognized  his  merit  and  deserved 
prominence  in  a  dreary  literary  age — even  he  cannot 
escape  the  hard  mechanical  touch  of  his  laws  of  master- 
song.  In  Kaulbach's  picture  of  the  Pieformation,  ho 
is  drawn  in  his  leather  apron,  seated,  and  counting  off 
the  feet  of  his  verse  with  his  thumb  and  forefinger. 
This  is  a  nice  characteristic  ;  for  I  need  hardly  tell  you 
that  the  Poet  who  is  born,  and  not  made,  never  counts 
his  feet  in  that  way.  Nevertheless,  there  is  little  of 
Hans  Sachs's  poetry  which  does  not  suggest  to  me  that 
thumb  and  forefin<]rer. 


146  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Since  the  members  were  almost  exclusively  mecha- 
nics, we  might  expect  that  so  long  a  metrical  discipline 
must  have  affected  the  tastes  and  instincts  of  the  people. 
It  must,  at  least,  have  partly  laid  the  basis  of  that  general 
sesthetic  development  which  occurred  seventy  or  eighty 
years  ago.  At  the  present  day  there  are  few  educated 
Germans,  men  or  women,  who  cannot  write  rhythmically 
correct  verse.  But  when  we  come  to  speak  of  poetry  as 
the  expression  of  intellectual  growth,  the  result  would 
probably  be  the  very  opposite.  The  good  mechanics 
confounded  the  letter  and  the  spirit,  like  many  men  in 
much  higher  stations.  I  confess  there  is  something 
picturesque  and  even  beautiful  in  this  long  devotion  to 
the  external  form,  with  all  its  unnatural  and  ludicrous 
features  ;  and  I  am  ready  to  agree  with  Longfellow, 
when  he,  a  Master-singer,  thus  sings  of  those  old  Master- 
singers  : 

"  From  remote  and  sunless  suburbs  came  tliey  to  the  friendly  guild. 
Building  nests  in  Fame's  great  temple,  as  in  spouts  the  swallows 

build. 
As  the  weaver  plied  his  shuttle,  wove  he  too  the  mystic  rhyme  ; 
And  the  smith  his  iron  measures  hammered  to  the  anvil's  chime  ; 
Thanking  God,  whose  boundless  wisdom  makes  the  flowers  of  poesy 

bloom 
In  the  forge's  dust  and  cinders,  in  the  tissues  of  the  loom." 

Here,  then,  are  the  chief  features  of  German  litera- 
ture between  the  years  1300  and  1500 — weak  echoes  of 
the  epic  and  the  minue-song,  gradually  dying  of  their 
own  imbecility :  the  institution  of  poetry  as  a  trade  or 


TUE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  REFORMATION.      147 

handicraft  (more  correctly,  worcUcraff) ;  the  modest 
growth  of  a  new  spirit  of  song  among  the  common  peo- 
ple ;  the  increasing  prominence  of  the  didactic  element, 
and  the  slow  and  painful  effort  of  the  neglected  Ger- 
man 23rose  to  raise  itself  into  notice.  The  invention  of 
printing,  at  the  start,  gave  currency  to  many  more  indif- 
ferent works  than  to  those  which  needed  to  be  saved ; 
but  the  fermentation  w^hich  preceded  the  great  religious 
movement  had  already  commenced,  and  it  was  destined 
to  stamp  its  character  upon  nearly  all  the  literature  of 
the  next  century. 

Before  we  turn  to  the  coming  change,  let  me  mention 
two  or  three  works  which  lift  themselves  a  little  above 
the  level  of  the  intermediate  period.  In  the  first  place 
many  knightly  legends  and  old  traditions  were  trans- 
lated and  read  throughout  Germany — among  others 
"Die  siehen  iveisen  Meister"  (The  Seven  Wise  Masters) 
and  the  "Gesta  Bomanortim ;"  various  historical  chroni- 
cles were  written ;  and  the  theological  writings  of  Tauler, 
the  mystic,  and  Gailer  von  Kaysersberg,  are  worthy  of 
notice.  Sebastian  Brandt,  toward  the  close  of  the  fif- 
teenth century,  published  his  "Narre7wchiff'"  (Ship  of 
Fools)  and  his  "Narrenspiegel"  (Mirror  of  Fools), didactic 
poems  of  a  Hudibrastic  character,  full  of  shrewd  and 
pithy  phrases,  in  a  coarse  Alsatian  German,  and  with 
frequent  gleams  of  a  genuine  humor.  They  were  very 
popular  for  some  years,  until  the  religious  division  of 
Germany  drew  nearer,  when  Brandt,  like  his  successor, 


lis  GERMAir  LITERATURE. 

Thomas  Mumer,  became  a  bitter  opj)onent  of  tlie  Refor- 
mation. Murner  followed  with  his  ''Narrenhesckivi/rung  " 
(Conjuration  of  Fools) ;  but  his  chief  merit  was  his  ver- 
sion of  the  pranks  of  Till  Eulenspiegel  (Till  Owlglass) — 
a  famous  book  ever  since  that  day.  A  translation  of  it 
was  published  in  this  country  only  four  or  five  years 
ago.  I  might  also  mention  the  names  of  Eosenbliit  and 
Muscatbliit,  and  of  that  hand-organ  grinder,  Caspar  von 
der  Roen,  but  only  because  they  sometimes  occur  in 
German  literature.  They  wrote  nothing  of  sufficient 
interest  to  review  here. 

The  Reformation  was  partly  heralded  by  pamphlets 
and  poems,  as  well  as  by  sermons.  All  the  principal 
Reformers  rose  at  once,  as  authors,  far  above  their 
immediate  literary  predecessors.  That  daring  and  inde- 
pendent spirit  which  grew  from  their  strongest  spiritual 
convictions  extended  itself  to  everything  which  they 
spoke  or  wrote.  In  forgetting  the  conventionalities  of 
literature,  and  giving  their  whole  soul  and  strength  to 
the  clearest  utterance  of  their  views,  they  unconsciously 
acquired  a  higher  literary  style.  In  singing  what  they 
felt  to  be  God's  truth,  they  did  not  take  the  Minne- 
singers as  models,  or  consider  the  artificial  rules  of  the 
Masters;  and  so  there  came  into  their  songs  a  new, 
veritable  sweetness  and  strength,  drawn  directly  from 
the  heart.  It  was  no  time  for  purely  aesthetic  develop- 
ment ;  fancy  or  imagination  could  not  soar  in  that  stern, 
disturbed  atmosj)here.     But  the  basis  was  then  laid,  on 


THE  LITEEATURE  OF  THE  REFORMATION.      149 

wliicli  tlie  immortal  literature  of  the  last  century  is 
founded. 

Zwingli  -was  born  in  November,  1483,  Luther  two 
months  afterward,  and  Ulric  von  Hutten  in  1488. 
They  worked  simultaneously,  but  in  dijfferent  ways  and 
with  very  different  degrees  of  literary  merit.  Zwingli 
was  polemical,  Hutten  satirical,  and  Luther  creative. 
Hutten's  Dialogues,  in  point,  satire  and  rapid  ease  of 
movement,  surpass  any  German  prose  before  him ;  but 
they,  like  all  German  prose  up  to  that  time,  are  marked 
by  the  local  dialect  of  the  author.  The  language  was 
gradually  developing  its  qualities,  but  in  an  irregular 
and  not  very  coherent  fashion.  Philologically,  there 
were  almost  as  many  different  varieties  of  prose  as  there 
were  autliors,  while  poetry  (except  the  unnoticed  songs 
of  the  people)  had  hardened  into  the  rigid  moulds 
made  for  it  more  than  two  hundred  years  before. 

The  man  who  re-created  the  German  language — I 
hardly  think  the  expression  too  strong — was  Martin 
Luther.  It  was  his  fortune  and  that  of  the  world  that 
he  was  so  equally  great  in  many  directions — as  a  per- 
sonal character,  as  a  man  of  action,  as  a  teacher  and 
preacher,  and,  finally,  as  an  author.  No  one  before  him, 
and  no  one  for  nearly  two  hundred  years  after  him,  saw 
that  the  German  tongue  must  be  sought  for  in  the 
mouths  of  the  people — that  the  exhausted  expression 
of  the  earlier  ages  could  not  be  revived,  but  that  the 
newer,  fuller  and  richer  speech,  then  in  its  childhood. 


150  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

must  at  once  be  acknowledged  and  adopted.  He  made 
it  tlie  vehicle  of  Avliat  was  divinest  in  human  lan- 
guage ;  and  those  who  are  not  informed  of  his  manner 
of  translating  the  Bible,  cannot  appreciate  the  origi- 
nality of  his  work,  or  the  marvelous  truth  of  the  in- 
stinct which  led  him  to  it. 

Y/itli  all  his  scholarship,  Luther  dropped  the  theo- 
logical style,  and  sought  among  the  people  for  phrases 
as  artless  and  simple  as  those  of  the  Hebrew  writers. 
He  frequented  the  market-place,  the  merry-making,  the 
house  of  birth,  marriage  or  death  among  the  common 
people,  in  order  to  catch  the  fullest  expression  of  their 
feelings  in  the  simplest  words.  He  enlisted  his  friends 
in  the  same  service,  begging  them  to  note  down  for  him 
any  peculiar,  sententious  phrase  ;  "  for,"  said  he,  "  I  can- 
not use  the  words  heard  in  castles  and  at  courts."  Not 
a  sentence  of  the  Bible  was  translated,  until  he  had 
sought  for  the  briefest,  clearest  and  strongest  German 
equivalent  to  it.  He  writes,  in  1530 :  "  I  have  exerted 
myself,  in  translating,  to  give  pure  and  clear  German. 
And  it  has  verily  happened,  that  we  have  sought  and 
questioned  a  fortnight,  three,  four  weeks,  for  a  single 
word,  and  yet  it  was  not  always  found.  In  Job  we  so 
labored,  Philip  Melanchthon,  Aurogallus  and  I,  that 
in  four  days  we  sometimes  barely  finished  three  lines. 
.  .  .  It  is  well  enough  to  plow,  when  the  field  is 
cleared ;  but  to  root  out  stock  and  stone,  and  prepare  the 
ground,  is  what  no  one  will." 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  REFORMATION.      151 

He  illustrates  his  own  plan  of  translation  by  an  ex- 
ample wliicli  is  so  interesting  that  I  must  quote  it : 
"We  must  not  ask  the  letters  in  the  Latin  language 
how  we  should  sjjeak  German,  as  the  asses  do,  but  we 
must  ask  the  mother  in  the  house,  the  children  in  the 
lanes,  the  common  man  in  the  market-place,  and  read 
in  their  mouths  how  they  speak,  and  translate  accord- 
ing thereto :  then  they  understand,  for  they  see  we  are 
speaking  German  to  them.  As  when  Christ  says  :  Ex 
dbundantia  cordis  os  loquitur.  Now  if  I  were  to  follow 
the  asses,  they  would  dissect  for  me  the  letters  and 
thus  translate  :  '  Out  of  the  superabundance  of  the 
heart,  speaks  the  mouth.'  Now  tell  me,  is  that  spoken 
German  ?  What  German  understands  that  ?  What  is 
superabundance  of  the  heart,  to  a  German?  No  Ger- 
man would  say  that,  unless  he  meant  that  he  had  too 
much  of  a  heart,  or  too  big  a  heart,  although  even  that 
is  not  correct ;  for  superabundance  of  heart  is  no  Ger- 
man, any  more  than — superabundance  of  house,  super- 
abundance of  cooking-stove,  sujjerabundance  of  bench ; 
but  thus  speaketh  the  mother  in  the  house  and  the 
common  man :  Whose  heart  is  full,  his  mouth  overflows. 
That  is  Germanly  spoken,  such  as  I  have  endeavored 
to  do,  but,  alas  !  not  always  succeeded." 

Luther  translated  the  Bible  eighty  years  before  our 
English  version  was  produced.  I  do  not  know  whether 
the  English  translators  made  any  use  of  his  labors, 
although  they  inclined  toward  the  same  plan,  without 


152  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

following  it  so  conscientiously.  In  regard  to  accuracy 
of  rendering,  there  is  less  difference.  Bunsen,  in  liis 
"BibelwerJc,"  states  thattliere  are  more  than  five  hundred 
errors  in  either  version.  But,  in  regard  to  the  fullness, 
the  strength,  the  tenderness,  the  vital  power  of  language, 
I  think  Luther's  Bible  decidedly  superior  to  our  own. 
The  instinct  of  one  great  man,  is,  in  such  matters,  if  not 
a  safer,  at  least  a  more  satisfactory  guide  than  the  ave- 
rage judgment  of  forty-seven  men.  Luther  was  a  poet 
as  well  as  a  theologian,  and,  as  a  poet,  he  was  able  to 
feel,  as  no  theologian  could,  the  intrinsic  difference  of 
spirit  and  character  in  the  different  books  of  the  Old 
Testament, — not  only  to  feel,  but,  through  the  sympa- 
thetic q^^ality  of  the  poetic  nature,  to  reproduce  them. 
These  ten  years,  from  1522  to  1532,  which  he  devoted 
to  the  work,  were  not  only  years  of  unremitting,  prayer- 
ful, conscientious  labor,  but  also  of  warm,  bright,  joyous 
.intellectual  creation.  We  can  only  appreciate  his  won- 
derful achievement  by  comparing  it  with  any  German 
prose  before  his  time.  Let  me  quote  his  version  of  the 
139th  Psalm,  as  an  example  of  the  simplicity,  the 
strength  and  the  nobility  of  his  style : 

Herr,  du  erforschest  micTi,  und  kennest  micli. 

2. — Icli  sitze  Oder  stelie  auf,  so  weisst  du  es ;   du  verstehest  meine 

Qedanken  von  feme. 
3. — Ich  gehe  oder  liege,  so  bist  du  um  micli,  und  siehest  alle  me'ne 

Wege. 
4. — Denn  siehe,  es  ist  kein  Wort  auf  meiner  Zunge,  das  du,   Herr, 

nicht  AUes  wissest. 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  REFORMATION.      I53 

5. — Du  scliaffest  es,  was  icli  vor  oder  liernacli  thiie,  unci  liiiltst  doine 

Hand  iiber  mir. 
6. — Solclies  Erkeuutniss    ist  mir  zu  Aviinderlicli  und  zu  liocli ;    icli 

liann  es  niclit  begreifen. 
7. — Wo  soil  ich  hingelien  vor  deinem  Geist?     Und  wo  soil  icli  hln- 

fliehen  vor  deinem  Angesiclit  ? 
8. — Fiilire  icli  gen  Hinimel,  so  bist  du  da.      Bettete  ich  mir  in  die 

Holle,  sielie,  so  bist  du  audi  da. 
9. — Nalime  ich  Fliigel  der  Morgenriithe,  und  bliebe  am  ausscrsten 

Meer, 
10. — So  wiirde  mich  doch  deine    Hand  daselbst    fiihren,  und  deine 

Eechte  mich  halten. 
11. — Spriiche  ich:    Finsterniss  mcige  mich  decken  ;  so  muss  die  Naclit 

audi  Licht  um  mich  seyn. 
12. — Denn  auch  Finsterniss  nicht  fluster  ist  bei  dir,  und  die  Nacht 

leuchtet  wie  der  Tag ;  Finsterniss  ist  wie  das  Licht. 

Now  let  us  take  a  few  verses  from  tlie  well-known 
cliapter  of  Paul — the  tliirteentli  of  the  first  Epistle  to  the 
Corinthians,  and  feel  how  Luther  was  equally  capable 
of  expressing  the  warmth,  the  tenderness  and  the  beauty 
of  the  originah  You  will  note  that  the  word  "charity" 
of  our  version  is  more  correctly  rendered  "  love  "  : 

Wenn  ich  mit  Menschen-  und  mit  Engelzungen  redete,  und  hiitte 

der  Liebe  nicht ;  so  ware  ich  ein  tiinend  Erz,  oder  eine  kliugende 

Schelle. 
2. — Und  wenn  iclt  weissagen  konnte,  und  wiisste  alle  Geheimnisse, 

und  alle  Erkenntniss,  und  hiitte  alien  Glauben,  also,  dass  ich  Berge 

versetzte,  und  hiitte  der  Liebe  nicht ;  so  wiire  ich  nichts. 
3. — Und  wenn  ich  alle  meine  Habc  den  Armen  giibe,  und  liesse  mei- 

nen  Leib  brennen,  und  hiitte  der  Liebe  nicht ;  so  wiire  mir's  nichts 

niitze. 
4. — Die  Liebe  is  langmiithig  und  freundlich,  die  Liebe  eifert  nicht, 

die  Liebe  treibt  nicht  Muthwillen,  sie  bliihet  sich  nicht, 
5.— Sie  stellet  sich  nicht  ungeberdig,  sie  sucliet  nicht  das  Ihre,  sie 

lasst  sich  nicht  erbittern,  sie  trachtet  nicht  nach  Schaden, 

■7* 


loi 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


6. — Sie  freuet  sich  niclit  der  Ungerechtigkeit,  sie  freuet  sicli  aber  der 

Walirlieit, 
7. — Sie  vertrilgt  Alles,  sie  glaubet  Alles,  sie   lioffet  Alles,  sie  duldet 

Alles. 
8. — Die  Liebe  horet  nimmer  auf,  so  docli  die  Weissagungen  aufli6ren 

werden,  und  die  Spracben  aufhoren  werden,  und  das  Erkenntniss 

aufbOren  wird. 

I  have  not  the  time  to  compare,  as  I  should  wish, 
certain  passages,  verse  by  verse,  nor,  indeed,  to  dwell 
longer  on  a  work  which,  although  a  translation,  pos- 
sesses for  the  German  race  the  literary  importance  of 
an  original  creation.  Let  us  take  two  very  different 
examples  of  Luther's  abilities  as  an  author — the  first, 
that  celebrated  hymn,  "■Eine  feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott,''' 
which  should  be  properly  chanted  to  his  own  music,  as 
it  still  is  in  Germany,  in  order  to  be  fully  appreciated. 
The  theme  is  taken  from  the  forty-sixth  Psalm;  the 
translation  is  Carlyle's : 


EIn  feste  burg  ist  vnser  Gott, 
ein  gute  webr  vud  wafEen  : 
Er  bilfft  vus  f  rey  aus  aller  not 
die  vns  itzt  hat  betrofEen. 

Der  alt  bose  feind 
niit  ernst  ers  itzt  meint, 
gros  macht  vnd  viel  list 
sein  grausam  rustung  ist, 
auff  crd  ist  uicbts  seins  gleicben. 

Mit  vnser  macbt  ist  nichts  ge- 

than, 
wir  sind  gar  bald  verloren  : 
Es  streit  f  iir  vns  der  recbte  man, 
den  Gott  bat  seibs  erkoreu. 


A  safe  stronghold  our  God  is  still, 
A  trusty  shield  and  weapon  ; 
He'll  help  us  clear  from  all  the  ill 
That  hath  us  now  o'ertaken. 
The  ancient  Prince  of  Hell 
Has  risen  with  purpose  fell  ; 
Strong  mail  of  Craft  and  Power 
He  weareth  in  this  hour. 
On  Earth  is  not  his  fellow. 

With  force  of  arms  we  nothing 

can. 
Full  soon  were  we  down-ridden  ; 
But  for  us  fights  the  proper  Man, 
Whom  God  himself  hath  bidden. 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  TEE  REFORMATION.      155 


Fragstu,  wer  der  ist  ? 
er  heisst  Jhesus  Christ, 
der  HERR  Zebaoth, 
vnd  ist  l^eiu  auder  Gott, 
das  felt  mus  er  belialten. 

Vnd  weun  die  welt  vol  Teuffel 

wer, 
vnd  wolt  vns  gar  verschlingen, 
so  f  iircliten  wir  vns  nicht  so  selir, 
es  sol  vns  doch  gelingen. 
Der  Fiirst  dieser  welt, 
wie  sawr  er  sich  stelt, 
tlmt  er  vns  docli  niclit, 
das  maclit,  er  ist  gericht, 
ein  wortlin  kan  jn  fellen. 

Das  wort  sie  solleu  lassen  stan 

vnd  kcin  danck  dazu  haben, 
Er  ist  bej  vns  wol  au£E  deui  plan 

mit  seinem  geist  vnd  gaben. 

Nemen  sie  den  leib, 
gut,  ehr,  kind  vnd  weib : 
las  faliren  dabin, 
sie  liabcus  kein  gewin, 
Das  Reich  mus  vns  doch  bleiben. 


Ask  yc.  Who  is  this  same? 
Christ  Jesus  is  his  name. 
The  Lord  Zebaoth's  Son, 
He  and  no  other  one 
Shall  conquer  in  the  battle. 

And  were  this  world  all  Devils 

o'er, 
And  watching  to  devour  us. 
We  lay  it  not  to  heart  so  sore. 
Not  they  can  overpower  us. 
And  let  the  Prince  of  111 
Look  grim  as  e'er  he  will. 
He  harms  us  not  a  whit : 
For  why?     His  doom  is  writ, 
A  word  shall  quickly  slay  him. 

God's  Word,  for  all  their  craft 

and  force. 
One  moment  will  not  linger. 
But  spite  of  Hell  shall  have  its 

course, 
'Tis  written  by  his  finger. 
And  though  they  take  our  life, 
Goods,  honour,  children,  wife. 
Yet  is  their  profit  small ; 
These  things  shall  vanish  all. 
The  Citv  of  God  remaineth. 


We  seem  to  hear  the  steps  of  a  giant,  to  whom  every- 
thing must  give  way,  in  the  strong,  short  march  of 
the  original  lines.  I  meant  to  quote,  as  a  contrast 
to  this,  the  letter  which  Luther  wrote  to  his  little 
son,  as  delightfully  artless  and  childlike  a  piece  of  writ- 
ing as  anything  which  Hans  Christian  Andersen  has 
ever  produced.  But  it  is  so  well  known  that  I  have 
decided  to   translate,  instead,    a  Christmas   poem   for 


15G  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

cliildren,  wliicli  I  believe  has  never  been  rendered  into 
English : 

VOm   Himel  hocli  da  kom  ich      From  Heaven  I  come,  a  herald 

lier,  true, 

icli  bring  eucli  gute  newe  mehr.       To  bring  glad  tidings  down  to 

you. 
Der  guten  mehr  bring  icli  so  viel       So  mucli  good  news  I  hither  bring 
dauon  ich  singen  vnd  sagen  wil.       That  I  thereof  must  speak  and 

sing. 

Euch  ist  ein  kindlein  heut  ge-  There's    born,    to-day,    a   little 

born,  child, 

von  einer  Jungfraw,  auserkorn.  And   from   a  Virgin,  pure  and 

mild  ; 

Ein  kiudelein,  so  zart  und  fein,  A  babe  so  fine  and  fair  to  see, 

das  sol  ewr  freud  vnd  wonne  It  must  your  bliss  and  fortune 

sein.  be. 

Es  ist  der  HERR  Christ  vnser      'Tis  Christ,  the  Lord,  our  God 

Gott,  indeed, 

der  wil  euch  f  arn  aus  aller  not.         Who   out   of    trouble   us    shall 

lead  ; 
Er  wil  ewr  Heiland  selber  sein,        He  shall  your  Saviour  be,  and 

make 
von  alien  sunden  machen  rein.  Te   pure   of   sin  for  his   sweet 

sake. 

Er  bringt  euch  alle  seligkeit,  All   joy  to   you  his  hand  shall 

bear, 

die  Gott  der  Vater  hat  bereit.  Which  God  the  Father  did  pre- 

pare. 

Das  jr  mit  vns  im  himelreich  That  so  with  us  ye  children  be 

solt  leben  nu  vnd  ewigleicli.  In  his  own  heaven  eternally. 

So  mercket  nu  das  zeichen  recht,       Isow  mark  ye  well  what  tokens 

these  : 
die  krippen,  windelein  so  schlecht.  The   manger  and  the   cloth   of 

frieze. 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  REFORMATION.      157 

Da  fiodet  jr  das  kind  gelegt,  Tlie  little  baby  there  ye'll  find, 

das  alle  welt  erhelt  und  tregt.  Who  shall  the  world  sustain  and 

bind. 

Des  lasst  vns  alle  frulich  sein  Let  lis  with  gladness  and  with 

prayer 
vnd  mit  den  hirteu  gehen  hinein,       Now  enter  with  the  shepherds 

there, 
Zu  sehen,  was  Gott  vns  hat  be-       To   see  what   God  for  us  hath 

schert,  done 

mit  seineni  lieben  Son  verehrt.  In  giving  us  his  darling  Son. 

Merck  auff,  mein  hertz,  vnd  sich      Look  up,  my  dears  !  turn  there 

dort  bin  :  your  eyes  : 

was  ligt  doch  in  dcm  krippelin,        WTiat  is  it  in  the  manger  lies  ? 
Was  ist  das  schone  kindelin  ?  Who  is  the  babe,  the  lamb,  the 

dove? 
es  ist  das  liebc  Jhesulin.  'Tis  little  Jesus  whom  we  love. 

Bis  willekomen,  du  edler  gast,  Be    welcome,    guest    so    nobly 

prized, 
den    Sunder  nicht  verschmehet       Who  hast   the   sinner    not   de- 
hast,  spised, 
Vnd   ktimpst   ins  elend   her  zu       And  should'st  thou  come  thro' 

mir  ;  woe  to  me, 

wie  sol  ich  immer  dancken  dir  ?        How  shall  I   render  thanks   to 

thee  ? 

Ach,  HERE,  du  schtipffer  aller  Ah,  Lord  !  who  did'st  all  things 

ding,  create, 

wie  bistu  worden  so  gering.  How    art    thou    fallen    to    low 

estate  ! 

Dass   du   da  ligst    auff  diirrem  Upon  dry  grass  thou  liest  here  : 

gras, 

dauon  ein  rind  vnd  esel  ass.  Beside  thee  feed  the  ass  and  steer. 

Vnd   wer    die  welt   vielmal    so       Were  the  whole  world  full   as't 

weit,  could  hold 

von  edel  stein  vnd  gold  bereit.  Of  precious  jewels  und  of  gold, 


158  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

So  wer  sie  docli  dirviel  zuklein,       For  tliee  'twere  far  too  small  : 

'twould  be 
zu  sein  ein  enges  wigelein.  A  narrow  cradle  unto  thee  ! 

Der  sammet  vnd  die  seiden  dein,  Tliy  velvet  and  thy  silks,  to-day, 

das  ist  grob  hew  und  windelein,  Are  coarsest  cloth  and  roughest 

hay, 

Darauff  du,  Kcinig  so  gross  vnd  Whereon    thou,  mighty   King, 

reich,  dost  lie 

her  prangst,  als  wers  dein  Hi-  As  grandly  as  in  Heaven  high. 

melreich, 

Ach,  niein  hertzliebes  Jhesulin,  Ah,  Jesus,  darling  of  my  breast, 

mach  dir  ein  rein  sanfft  bettelin,  Make  thee  a  pure,  soft  bed  of  rest, 

Zu     rugen    in     meins    hertzen  Within  my  heart  as  in  a  shrine, 

schrein, 

das  ich  nimer  vergesse  dein.  That  so  I  keep  thy  love  divine. 

Dauon  ich  allzeit  f  rohlich  sey.  Thence  happy  shall  I  always  be, 

zu  springen,  singen  imer  frey  And  leap  and  sing,  rejoicing  free, 

Das  rechte  Sussanine  schon,  As    one  who   feels   the   perfect 

tone 
mit  hertzen  lust  den  siissen  thon.       Of  sweet  heart-music  is  his  own. 

Lob,  ehr  sey  Gott   im  hochsten  Glory  to   God  in    the    Highest 

thron,  spend, 

der  vns  schenckt  seinen  einigen  Who  us  His  only  Son  did  send, 

Son, 

Des  frewen  sich  der  engel  schar.  While  angels  now  sing  hymns 

of  cheer, 

vnd   singen   vns    solchs   newes  To  give  the  world  a  glad  New- 

jar.  year. 

I  make  no  apology  for  quoting  tliis  simple  strain ; 
for  when  we  Lave  the  expression  of  a  man's  power  and 
energy  on  the  one  side,  and  of  his  delicacy  of  mind 
and  playful  tenderness  of  heart  on  the  other,  we  have 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  REFORMATION.      I59 

the  broadest  measure  of  his  character.  The  influence 
of  Luther  on  German  literature  cannot  be  explained 
until  we  have  seen  how  sound  and  vigorous  and  many- 
sided  was  the  new  spirit  which  he  infused  into  the 
language.  For  it  is  not  simply  the  grand  and  stately 
elements  which  must  be  developed ;  not  the  subtlety 
which  befits  speculation,  or  the  keenness  and  point 
which  are  required  for  satire ;  but  chiefly  the  power  of 
expressing  homely  human  sentiment  and  painting  the 
common  phases  of  life. 

The  hymns — or  rather,  devotional  poems, — written 
by  Luther's  contemporaries,  have  a  greater  or  less 
resemblance  to  his,  in  form  and  style.  The  one  lied  of 
Ulric  von  Hutten,  commencing  "Ich  liaVs  geioagt,^^  has 
the  keenness  of  a  sword-thrust :  those  of  Paul  Eber, 
Hermann,  Nicolai  and  others  vary  according  to  the  tem- 
perament or  talent  of  the  writer,  but  have  a  family  re- 
semblance. Some  are  rough  in  measure  and  almost 
rude  in  diction  ;  others  have  some  fluency  and  melody, 
with  no  special  literary  merit.  To  read  them  after 
Luther,  is  like  reading  Dr.  Watts  after  Milton's  "  Hymn 
on  the  Nativity."  I  do  not  consider  it  necessary  to  give 
any  specimens  of  their  hymns,  except  a  single  verse 
from  that  written  by  the  Duke  John  Frederick,  the 
Magnanimous,  of  Saxony : 

As 't  pleases  God,  so  let  it  pass  ; 

The  birds  may  take  my  sorrow  ; 
If  fortune  shun  my  house  to-day, 

I'll  wait  until  to-morrow. 


160  aSRMAN  LITERATURE. 

The  goods  I  have 

I  still  shall  save, 

Or,  if  some  part  forsake  me, 

Thank  God,  who's  just : 

What  must  be,  must  ; 

Good  luck  may  still  o'ertake  me  I 

The  secular  poets  of  the  first  half  of  the  sixteenth 
century  may  be  easily  reviewed.  I  find  no  author  of 
note,  except  Hans  Sachs,  although  some  of  the  shorter 
lyrics  of  Weckrlin  and  Andrsea  are  more  than  mechani- 
cal verse.  One  of  the  most  prolific  of  this  class  of 
poets  was  Helmbold,  whose  productions  were  almost  as 
plentiful,  and  not  much  more  valuable,  in  a  literary 
sense,  than  the  rhymed  advertisements  of  the  news- 
papers now-a-days. 

Hans  Sachs,  who  was  born  in  1494  and  lived  until 
1576,  must  not  be  confounded  with  the  host  of  Master- 
singers.  He  was  a  man  of  genuine  native  ability,  of 
great  experience  and  unusual  learning.  Educated  at  a 
good  school  as  a  boy,  he  then  became  a  shoemaker, 
traveled  as  a  wandering  journeyman  all  over  Germany, 
from  the  Baltic  to  the  Tyrolese  Alps,  was  a  hunter  in 
Maximilian's  service,  made  the  personal  acquaintance  of 
Luther,  and  returned  to  Nuremberg,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
two,  to  marry  and  devote  himself  to  poetry.  He  was  in 
easy  circumstances,  and  did  not  need  to  depend  on  his 
trade.  He  knew  all  German  and  the  best  of  classic 
literature,  and  even  the  works  of  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio. 
His  glowing  Protestantism  gave  much  of  his  poetry  a 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  REFORMATION.      161 

religious  and  didactic  cliaracter,  and  the  soulless  me- 
chanism of  the  Master-craft  is  too  frequently  apparent ; 
but  we  also  meet  with  lyrics  and  short  dramatic  pieces 
which  are  full  of  nature  and  grace,  and  which  charm  us 
by  their  happy  felicity  of  language.  If  we  apj)rove  only 
five  per  cent,  of  his  productions,  we  shall  still  have  three 
hundred  good  works  out  of  six  thousand.  His  narra- 
tive tone  is  sometimes  admirable,  especially  when  he 
describes  the  scenes  and  circumstances  of  the  life  around 
him,  not  inventing,  but  representing  poetically — to  use 
Grimm's  distinction  between  erdiclden  and  dichfen.  He 
seems  to  be  happiest  when  both  subject  and  sentiment 
are  what  is  called  hiirgerUch,  that  is,  belonging  to  tlie 
solid,  thrifty  middle  class :  there  is  nothing  of  the  fine 
frenzy  in  him.  Among  English  authors,  I  might  com- 
pare him  to  Crabbe  in  the  qualities  of  careful,  nice  ob- 
servation and  sturdy  good  sense,  but  Crabbe  was  much 
his  inferior  in  grace  and  variety  of  expression.  Lessing 
and  Goethe  were  among  the  first  to  rescue  the  fame  of 
Hans  Sachs  from  the  disrespect  into  which  it  had  fallen, 
under  the  dominion  of  French  taste  in  Germany.  Now, 
the  honest  Master  is  lifted  again  upon  his  proper  pedes- 
tal, and  sits  (to  quote  Longfellow  again)  : 

"  as  in  Adam  Puscliman's  song, 
As  the  old  man,  gray  and  dove-like,  with  his  great  beard  white  and 
long." 

I  have  had  some  difficulty  in  selecting  a  single  short 
poem  of  Hans  Sachs,  which  may  illustrate  the  lighter 


1G2 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


and  more  graceful  features  of  his  Muse.  Every  poem 
is  accompanied  by  a  statement  of  its  measure,  whether 
copied  from  an  okler  master  or  original.  The  latter,  of 
course,  is  the  more  characteristic.  As  scarcely  any- 
thing of  Hans  Sachs  has  ever  been  translated,  I  must 
furnish  at  least  one  specimen ;  and  I  have  taken  a  short 
poem,  which  he  says  was  written  in  1517,  in  his  own 
"  silver  measure." 


DICHTER   UND  SINGER, 


THE  POET  AND   THE   SINGER. 


Icli  lob  ein  brilnlein  kiile 

mit  ursprunges  aufwiile 

fiir  ein  gross  wasserhiile, 

die  keinen  ursprung  hat. 

Sicli  allein  muss  besechen 

mit  zufliessenden  bechen 

der  briinnlein,  mag  icli  sprechen  ; 

die  hill  nit  lang  bestat. 

Wan  von  der  sunen  grosser  hitz 

im  sumerlangen  tak 

die  hill  wirt  faul  und  gar  unniitz, 

gewint  bosen  geschniak; 

sie  tnicknet  ein,  wirt  griin  und 

gelb; 
so   frischet   sich   das   briinnlein 

selb 
mit  seinem  uresprunge, 
beleibet  unbezwunge 
von  der  sune  scheiiiunge, 
es  wirt  nit  faul  noch  mat. 


n 


Das  briinlein  ich  geleiche 
einem  dichtcr  kunstrciche. 


I  like  a  fountain,  flowing 
Beside  a  cavern,  showing 
No  token,  in  its  going. 
Of  whence  its  waters  came. 
Itself  must  fill  forever. 
And  by  its  own  endeavor. 
The  urn  of  its  light  river  : 
The  cave  is  not  the  same. 
\^nieu  from  the  sun's  increasing 

heat. 
In  days  of  summertime, 
The  cave  is   neither  fresh  nor 

sweet, 
But  smells  of  mould  and  slime. 
And   dries,    and  groweth    rank 

and  green  ; 
Then  doth  the  fount  itself  keep 

clean 
From  out  its  hidden  sources, — 
Conquers  the  sun's  hot  forces 
In  all  its  crystal  courses, 
And  grows  not  foul  nor  dull. 


That  fountain  I  compare  to 
The  poet,  who  doth  swear  to 


TRE  LITERATURE  OF  TEE  BEFORMATIOK.      103 


der  gesang  anfenkleiclie 
dichtct  aus  klinsten  grant  ; 
Bas  lob  icli  den  mit  rechte 
f  ilr  einen  singer  scTileclite, 
der  sein  gesang  enpfeclite 
aus  eines  fremden  munt. 
Wan  so  entspringet  neue  kunst, 
nocli  slierfer,  dan  die  alt, 
des  singers  gesang  ist  umsunst, 
er  wirt  gescliweiget  bait  ; 
er  kan  nit  gen  neue  gespor 
sie  sei  ini  den  gebanet  vor 
durch  den  dicbter  on  sherzen, 

der  aiis  knnstreicliem  berzen 
kan  dicbten  ane  scberzen 
neu  gesang  alle  stunt. 


Won  alle  kiinst  auf  erden 
teglicb  gescberfet  werden 
von  grobbeit  und  geferden, 
die  man  vor  darin  fant. 
Von  gesang  icb  euch  sage, 

das  er  von  tag  zu  tage 
nocb  scberfer  werden  mage 
durcb  den  dicliter,  verstant. 
Darum  gib  icb  dem  dicbter  ganz 

ein  kron  von  roteni  golt 

und    dem     singer     ein    griinen 

kranz. 
darbei  ir  merken  solt  : 
kem  der  singer  auf  todes  bar, 
sein  kunst  mit  im  al  stirbet  gar  ; 
wirt  der  dicbter  begraben, 
sein  kunst  wirt  erst  erbaben 
miintlicb  und  in  bucbstaben 
gar  weit  in  mengem  lant. 


Tbe  poetry  be's  beir  to  ; 
And  bonors  art  tbe  more. 
But  be — I  say  witb  sorrow — 
Is  a  wretcbed  singer  thorougb, 
Wbo  all  bis  songs  must  borrow 
From  wbat  was  sung  before. 
For  wben  new  art  is  borii  again, 
Better  tban  ancient  tune, 
Tbe  singer's  song  is  all  in  vain  : 
He  sball  be  silenced  soon  : 
No  effort  of  bis  own  avails 
To  follow  on  tbose  fresber  trails, 
'Gainst  bim  wbose  fancies  bear 

us, — 
Wliose  beart  and  art  declare  us, 
Tbat  ligbtly  be  can  spare  us 
A  new  song  every  hour. 


III. 


Our  art,  of  trutb  tbe  mirror, 
Sbould  daily  be  tbe  clearer 
Of  coarseness  and  of  error, 
Tbat  erewbile  clouded  it. 
And     song  —  tbere's     notbing 

surer  ! — 
Sbould  day  by  day  be  purer, 
And  nobler,  and  securer. 
Made  by  tbe  poet's  wit. 
Tberefore  a  crown  of  red-gold 

sbeen 
Tbe  poet  sbould  receive  ; 
Tbe  singer  but  a  garland  green. 

Tbat  ye  tbis  trutb  believe  : 
Lieth  tbe  singer  cold  and  dead. 
His  art  with  bim  batb  perisbcd  ; 
But  wben  tbe  poet  dietb 
His  art  tbat  end  denieth. 
And  liv(>tb  still,  and  tiietb 
To  many  a  distant  land. 


1G4 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


The  songs  of  the  people  continued  to  increase  and  to 
be  sung,  during  the  period  of  the  Reformation.  It  is  only 
in  them,  in  fact,  that  we  find  the  music  and  the  melody 
of  verse,  of  which  the  devotional  and  didactic  poetry  is 
so  bare.  The  character  of  these  songs  remains  the  same 
as  in  the  previous  century,  but  the  language  shows  a 
great  improvement.  Take  this  lovely  little  "  Hunter's 
Song,"  by  some  unknown  peasant-author : 


Es  jagt  ein  jeger  wolgemut  A  hunter  liiintcd  merrily, 

er  jagt  auss  frischem  freiem  mut     Under  the  leafy  linden-tree  ; 
wol  unter  eine  griine  linden,  His   free,  strong   heart   upbore 

him  ; 
er  jagt  derselben  tierlein  vil  Many  a  beast  he  hunted  down, 

niit  seinen  schnellen  winden.  With  his  greyhounds  fast  before 

him. 


Er  jagt  uber  berg  und  tiefo  tal 

under  den  stauden  iiberal, 

sein  hornlein  tat  er  blasen  ; 
sein  lieb  under  einer  stauden  sass, 

tet  auf  den  jeger  losen. 


He  sped  through  vale,  o'er 
mountain  cold. 

The  thicket  and  the  bushy 
wold. 

And  blew  his  horn  so  clearly  ; 

But  under  the  boughs  his  sweet- 
heart sat. 

And  looked  on  him  so  dearly. 


Er  schweift  sein  mantel  in  das 

gras, 
er  bat  sie,  dass  sie  zu  im  sass, 

mit  weissen  armen  umbfangen  : 

So     gehab      dich     wol,     mein 

trosterin  ! 
nach  dir  stet  mein  verlangen. 


Upon  the  ground  his  cloak  he 
threw, 

Sat  there,  and   her  beside  him 
drew. 

And  said,  her  white  hand  press- 
ing : 
"Well    may'st    thou    fare,    con- 
soler mine. 

My  one  desire  and  blessing  ! 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  REFORMATION,      165 

"  Hat  uns  der   reif,  liat   uns  der  "  If  hoar-frost  come,  or  snow  be 
scline,  seen, 

liat  uns  erf rcirt  den  grunen  kle,  To  kill  for  us  the  clover  green 

die  bllimlein  auf  der  heiden  :  And  the  blossoms  on  the  heather, 

wo  zwei  herzlieb  bei   einander  Nor  frost  nor  snow  can  part  the 

sind,  twain 

die  zwei  sol  niemant  scheiden."  Who  love,  and  sit  together  ! " 

Or  this  little  song  of  the  "Nettle-Wreath"  : 

"  0  baurnkneclit,  lass  die  roslein  "0  peasant-lad,  let  the  roses  be  ! 
Stan ! 
sie  sein  nit  dein  !  Not  for  thee  they  blow  ! 

du  tregst  noch  wol  von  nessel-       Thou  wearest  still  of  the  nettle- 
kraut  weed 
ein  krenzelein."                                   Thy  wreath  of  woe." 

Das   nesselkraut   ist  bitter  und  The  nettle-weed   is   bitter    and 

saur,  sour, 

und  brennet  mich:  And  burneth  me  ; 

verloren  hab  ich  m.ein  schones  But  that  I  lose  my  fairest  love 

lieb 

das  reuwet  mich.  Is  my  misery. 

Es  reut  mich  sehr,  und  tut  mir        This  I  lament,  and   thence  my 

heart 
in  meinem  herzen  we  :  Is  sad  and  sore  : 

gesegn   dich  gott,   mein   holder      God  keep  thee  now,  lost,  lovely 

bul,  girl ! 

ich  sehe  dich  nimmer  me  !  I  shall  never  see  thee  more. 

At  first  it  may  seem  remarkable  that,  with  such 
elements  as  Luther's  prose  and  the  birth  of  a  true 
poetry  among  the  people,  there  was  not  an  immediate 
revival  of  literature  in  Germany.  The  new  faith,  how- 
ever, did  not  bring  peace,  but  a  sword.  If  arms  silence 
laws,  they  silence  letters  all  the  more  speedily.     The 


IGG  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

oppressions  of  the  feudal  system,  which  brought  on  the 
Peasants'  War  in  Luther's  time,  were  strengthened  by 
the  bloody  failure  of  that  war :  rulers  and  nobles  trod 
out  every  spark  of  a  claim  for  better  rights  among  the 
people.  Thus,  toward  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, when  Spain  and  Italy  and  England  were  rejoicing 
in  their  classic  age  of  literature,  the  finer  mind  of  Ger- 
many seemed  to  be  dead.  But  for  Luther's  achieve- 
ments, the  Age  of  the  Reformation  would  seem  to  be  one 
of  baffled  promise,  separated  by  dreary  centuries  from 
the  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
that  of  the  modern  period  on  the  other.  Yet,  as  the 
strong  foundations  of  an  edifice  must  sometimes  wait 
long  for  the  building  of  the  superstructure,  so  here  the 
basis  of  the  later  development  was  complete,  and  the 
development  itself  predicted,  in  spite  of  all  delays. 


YL 

THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY. 

In  our  journey  downward,  from  the  earliest  period 
of  German  literature,  w^e  liave  traversed  very  diiferent 
regions.  We  found  ourselves,  at  tlie  start,  as  in  a  rough 
land  of  mountains  and  dark  fir  forests,  inhabited  by  a 
strong  and  simple  race.  There  are  meadows  and  fresh 
clearings  in  the  valleys,  but  from  the  deeper  gorges  we 
hear  the  chant  of  Druids  and  the  harps  of  the  last 
Bardic  singers.  Then  we  issue  upon  a  long,  barren 
waste,  beyond  which  lies  the  bright,  busy,  crowded  land 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  with  its  castles  and  cathedrals,  its 
marches  and  tournaments,  its  mingled  costumes  of  the 
East  and  the  West,  its  echoes  of  Palestine  and  Provence, 
of  Brittany  and  Cornwall.  Then  again  comes  a  w^aste, 
through  which  we  walk  wearily  for  a  long  time,  before 
we  reach  a  ncAv  region — a  land  of  earnest  workers  and 
builders,  where  the  first  resting-place  we  find  is  the 
block  of  a  new  edifice,  not  yet  lifted  to  its  place — a  land 
of  change  and  preparation,  overhung  by  a  doubtful  sky, 
but  OA^erblown  by  a  keen,  bracing  air,  in  which  the  race 
again  grows  strong.  We  have  now  one  more  long,  half- 
settled  stretch  of  monotonous  plain  to  traverse,  before 

167 


168  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

finding  tlie  work  of  the  builders  completed,  and  the 
substructures  of  thought  risen  into  temples  which  stand 
fair  and  firm  under  a  sky  of  eternal  sunshine. 

It  is  impossible  for  me,  now,  to  give  even  a  flying 
explanation  of  the  many  depressing  influences  which 
operated  directly  upon  the  literary  activity  of  the  Ger- 
man people  during  the  latter  half  of  the  sixteenth  and 
the  whole  of  the  seventeenth  century.  I  can  only  name 
the  chief  of  them :  first,  the  change  in  the  spirit  and 
character  of  the  Reformation,  after  the  Peasants'  War, 
and  again  after  Luther's  death,  coupled  with  the  in- 
fluence of  the  nobles  and  the  ruling  princes,  who  were 
at  once  despotic  and  indifferent  to  letters;  then  the 
terrible  Thirty  Years'  "War, — the  crudest  infliction  to 
which  any  people  were  ever  exposed ;  and,  finally,  the 
subjection  of  Germany  to  the  tastes  and  the  fashions 
of  France  and  of  French  thought. 

Although  Luther  had  created  the  modern  High-Ger- 
man on  the  basis  of  the  common  speech  of  the  j)eo- 
ple,  and  forced  the  Low-German  into  the  position  of  a 
dialect,  the  dry  theological  tendency  of  his  successors 
interfered  directly  with  his  work.  The  true  beginning 
of  a  new  literature  having  been  found,  it  could  only  be 
developed  in  the  same  direction.  But  when  the  demo- 
cratic element  in  the  Reformation  was  suppressed,  the 
popular  mine  of  speech  which  Luther  discovered  was  no 
longer  worked.  Indeed  the  religious  principle,  which 
was  inherited  by  the  next  generation,  became  a  different 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.    1G9 

agency  from  tliat  whicli  Lad  been  attained  tlirougli 
struggle  and  sacrifice..  It  liad  no  longer  the  same  vital, 
informing  power ;  and  it  settled  rapidly  into  a  dogma- 
tism only  less  rigid  than  tliat  of  tlie  Cliurcli  of  Rome. 
Not  only  tlie  literary  interests  suffered  under  this  state 
of  things,  but  the  very  language  became  corrupted  by 
neglect  and  the  style  of  ignorant  and  pretentious  writers. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Dr.  Fabri- 
cius  writes  :  "  Our  German  tongue  is  not  to  that  extent 
poor  and  decayed,  as  many  persons  would  now  have  us 
believe,  so  patching  and  larding  it  with  French  and 
Italian,  that  they  cannot  even  send  a  little  letter  with- 
out furbishing  it  with  other  languages,  so  that  one,  in 
order  to  understand  it,  ought  to  know  all  the  tongues 
of  Christendom,  to  the  great  disgrace  and  injury  of  our 
German  language."  It  was  probably  the  same  circum- 
stance which  led  Fischart  to  write,  a  little  earlier  :  "  Our 
language  is  also  a  language,  and  can  call  a  sack  a  sacli,  as 
well  as  the  Latins  can  call  it  a  saccus." 

Directly  following  this  haughty  indifference  of  the 
higher  class,  this  spiritual  degeneracy  of  the  middle 
class,  and  the  suppression  of  the  claims  of  the  common 
people,  came  the  Thirty  Years'  "War, — that  terrible  period 
from  which  Germany,  in  a  material  and  political  sense, 
has  been  nearly  two  hundred  years  in  recovering. 
Whole  regions  were  so  devastated  that  the  wolf  and  the 
bear  resumed  their  original  ownership  ;  the  slow  edu- 
cation of  centuries  was  swept  away  ;  a  second  barba- 


170  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

rism,  worse  tlian  the  first,  in  some  instances  took  its 
place ;  and  the  Westphalian  Peace  left  a  land  broken 
and  despoiled  of  nearly  everything,  except  the  power  of 
the  rulers  over  their  subjects.  I  have  seen  more  than 
one  district  of  Germany  which,  in  1850,  had  just  re- 
covered the  same  amount  of  population,  of  cattle  and  of 
agricultural  productions  which  it  possessed  before  the 
year  1618.  It  is  only  by  such  statements  that  we  can 
measure  the  results  of  that  struggle.  The  Germany  of 
to-day  is  not  the  work  of  its  petty  jjrinces,  not  the  work 
of  the  sham  emperors,  whose  "  holy  Roman"  sceptre 
was  the  symbol  of  imaginary  power,  but  the  work  of  the 
people,  liberated,  educated,  conscious  of  their  strength 
and  grand  in  exercising  it. 

When  we  have  studied  the  history  of  Germany  suffi- 
ciently to  comprehend  the  constant,  almost  indescrib- 
able trials  and  sufferings  of  the  people  during  this 
period,  we  no  longer  wonder  at  their  retarded  intellec- 
tual development.  But  for  an  infinite  patience  and 
courage,  they  must  have  lost  their  national  identity,  like 
the  Goths  and  Burgundians.  But,  as  we  have  seen, 
much  good  seed  had  been  planted,  and  such  seed  will 
always  germinate,  though  held  in  the  hand  of  an  Egyp- 
tian mummy  for  three  thousand  years.  It  was  only  a 
delayed,  not  a  prevented  growth.  Two  men  then  arose 
who  belong  to  the  greatest  minds  of  the  world — two 
men  whose  peculiar  labors  abstracted  them  from  the 
miserable   circumstances  into  which   they  were   born, 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.     IJl 

and  rendered  tliem  comparatively  independent  of  their 
time.  They  were  Kepler  and  Leibnitz.  One  belongs  to 
science,  and  the  other  to  philosophy.  But  Kepler  is 
hardly  to  be  called  an  author,  and  Leibnitz  wrote 
chiefly  in  Latin,  and  therefore  hardly  connects  himself 
with  German  literature. 

The  one  author  who  especially  represents  the  latter 
half  of  the  sixteenth  century  is  Johannes  Fischart. 
We  know  very  little  about  his  life — not  even  the  proba- 
ble date  of  his  birth ;  but  only  that  he  was  a  jurist  and 
theologian,  that  he  lived  in  Strasburg,  Speyer  and  For- 
bach,  that  he  traveled  much,  having  visited  England, 
and  was  acquainted  with  many  languages.  He  was 
partly  a  contemporary  of  Shakespeare,  to  whose  portrait 
his  own  has  some  resemblance,  and  whom  he  resembled 
also  in  the  wonderful  breadth  and  variety  of  his  accom- 
plishments. Although  his  works  were  quite  popular 
during  his  life,  they  seem  to  have  been  wholly  forgotten 
at  the  close  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  and  his  name  was 
almost  unknown  when  revived  by  the  late  recognition 
of  Bodmer  and  Lessing.  There  was  really,  in  the  long 
interval  between  his  death  and  the  birth  of  these  men, 
no  author  of  sufficient  scope  to  appreciate  his  Avorks, 
unless  it  was  Frederick  v.  Logau,  who  probably  never 
heard  of  him. 

The  first  thing  which  strikes  us  in  Fischart  is  his 
style,  which  reminds  us  of  Rabelais,  and  sometimes  of 
Eichter.     His  vocabulary  is  inexhaustible,  and  his  sati- 


172  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

rical  liumor  never  wearies.  He  is  quite  equal  to  Rabe- 
lais in  the  invention  of  comical  words,  and  it  is  tlierefore 
almost  impossible  to  translate  many  of  his  best  pas- 
sages. He  even  transforms,  or  Germanizes  with  great 
humor,  words  of  foreign  origin,  constituting,  in  fact,  a 
very  curious  form  of  punning, — as  melanclioliscli,  which 
he  turns  into  maul-hdng-cliolisch, podagra  into pfoten-gram, 
and  Jesidter  into  Jesu-wider.  Such  specimens  will  give 
you  an  idea  of  his  peculiar  manner.  In  a  sort  of  gro- 
tesque absurdity,  he  was  the  forerunner  of  a  class  of 
American  authors  who  are  now  attempting  to  make 
everything  in  the  world  comical  for  us,  from  the  raising 
of  potatoes  to  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew;  but, 
unlike  those  American  authors,  his  fun  rests  on  a  broad 
foundation  of  learning,  and  is  constantly  softened  and 
lightened  by  a  noble  humanity.  When  his  humor  is 
apparently  most  lawless  and  chaotic,  he  never  loses 
sight  of  its  chosen  object.  Even  his  '^Aller  Pradih 
Grossmutter,"  which  seems  to  be  a  collection  of  absurdi- 
ties, was  meant  to  cure  the  people  of  their  dependence- 
ou  soothsayers  and  prognosticating  almanacs.  I  regret 
that  I  have  not  had  time  to  attempt  the  translation  of  a 
few  passages,  in  which  Fischart's  remarkable  humor 
and  style  might  be  preserved ;  but  in  order  to  give  any- 
thing like  a  fair  representation  of  his  comic  genius  in 
English,  we  should  have  to  find  a  man  like  Urquhart, 
the  translator  of  Eabelais,  and  such  translators  aj)pear 
as  rarely  as  the  original  authors. 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.    I73 

I  can  give  only  a  little  specimen  of  his  serious  prose, 
from  his  "Book  of  Conjugal  Virtue,"  wherein  he  com- 
pares matrimony  to  a  shij) : 

On  the  sea  the  wind  is  the  governing  power ;  in  the  household  it 
is  God.  In  this  house-ship,  trust  in  God  fills  the  sails  favorably  :  the 
mast,  to  which  the  sails  are  fastened,  is  the  Divine  institution  of  mar- 
riage :  the  anchor  is  a  believing,  enduring  hope.  The  ship's  tackle  is 
the  house-furniture  ;  the  freight  is  all  household  service  ;  the  crew 
are  those  who  perform  it :  the  sea  is  the  world,  the  great  sea-waves 
are  the  many  troubles  and  anxieties  which  come  to  the  house-folks,  in 
trying  to  support  themselves  in  honor.  The  tacking  of  the  ship 
is  the  going  out  and  in :  the  lading  and  unlading  are  the  expenses 
and  the  incomes.  Shipwreck  is  the  ruin  that  comes  upon  a  house, 
either  from  dying  away  of  the  v.n.nA  of  God,  or  from  the  slack,  evil 
sails  of  mistrust,  or  from  dissipated  courses. 

The  shrouds  on  the  mast  are  a  good  conscience  ;  the  pennon  at  the 
mast-head  is  faith  in  God,  the  compass  is  the  commandments  of  God. 
The  rudder  is  Obedience,  the  figure-head  at  the  prow  is  the  fear  and 
honor  of  God.  The  deck  is  decent  life  and  fidelity  of  them  that  serve. 
Pirates  are  the  devils  that  disturb  married  life,  and  the  envious  who 
attack  the  house-ship.  And  finally,  even  as  the  islands  of  the  sea, — 
yea,  half  the  world^were  not  inhabited  save  for  navigation,  so  lands 
and  places  would  be  desolate,  but  for  the  households  of  marriage. 
And  as  unto  him  who  goes  to  sea  the  sailing  prospers,  so  he  prospers 
in  his  household  who  applies  an  honest  art  and  skill  thereto.  Not 
unjustly  do  we  comjiare  a  household  to  a  vessel,  since  the  first  house 
and  the  first  house-keeping,  during  and  after  the  Deluge,  were  a  ship 
and  in  a  ship. 

Fischart  was  a  man  of  strong  religious  and  patriotic 
feelings.  In  his  "  Serious  Warning  to  the  beloved  Ger- 
mans," he  gives  a  picture  of  what  Germany  then  was 
and  what  she  should  he,  which  will  apply  to  the  history 
of  the  first  half  of  this  century.  "  What  honor  is  it  to 
you,"  he  asks,  "that  you  praise  the  old  Germans  because 


1 74  GERMAN  LITER  A  TURE. 

tliey  fouglit  for  tlieir  freeclom,  because  they  suffered  no 
bad  neighbors  to  molest  them?  And  you  disregard 
your  own  freedom,  you  can  hardly  be  secure  in  your 
own  land,  you  allow  your  neighbor  to  tie  his  horse,  head 
and  tail,  to  your  hedge."  Fischart  was  a  native  of 
Elsass,  and  the  neighbor,  of  course,  was  France.  In 
another  poem,  he  exclaims :  "  The  flower  of  freedom  is 
the  loveliest  blossom !  May  God  let  this  excellent  flower 
expand  in  Germany  everywhere :  then  come  peace,  joy, 
rest  and  renown ! " 

Fischart  first  introduced  the  Italian  sonnet  into  Ger- 
man literature.  His  poetical  versions  of  some  of  the 
Psalms  more  nearly  approach  Luther's  in  rugged  gran- 
deur than  those  of  any  other  writer  of  the  time ;  but  his 
verse  lacks  the  ease  and  the  animation  of  his  prose.  As 
a  prose  writer,  he  gives  exactly  that  element  to  the  lan- 
guage which  the  Reformers  could  not  furnish  in  their 
graver  works — an  element  of  playful  and  grotesque 
humor  which  does  not  again  appear  until  we  find  it  in 
Eichter.  But  Fischart,  coming  after  Luther  and  profit- 
ing by  his  labors,  cannot  be  called  a  founder.  Had  he 
fallen  upon  other  times — for  instance  on  an  age  of  dra- 
matic literature,  like  Shakespeare — his  great  natural 
powers  might  have  been  more  broadly  and  happily  de- 
veloped. As  in  the  case  of  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach, 
we  feel  that  the  man  must  have  been  greater  than  his 
works. 

I  have  mentioned  the  corruption  which  came  upon  the 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.    I75 

language  about  tlie  close  of  the  sixteeutli  ceutuiy,  and 
have  given  jou  two  instances  to  show  that  it  was  griev- 
ously felt  by  men  of  intelligence.  In  spite  of  the  con- 
tinual religious  and  political  agitation,  the  class  of  cul- 
tivated persons  slowly  increased :  the  need  of  a  literary 
reformation  was  recognized,  and  finally,  in  1617,  a  year 
before  the  breaking  out  of  tlie  Thirty  Years'  War,  a 
society  was  formed,  on  the  model  of  those  Italian  litera- 
ry associations,  some  of  which  exist  to  this  day.  It  was 
called  the  "  Fruit-bringing  Society,"  or  the  "  Order  of 
the  Palm"  :  its  chief  object  was  to  restore  and  preserve 
the  purity  of  the  German  tongue.  It  seems  like  an 
omen  of  the  future  that  this  society — the  first  sign  of 
a  distinct  literary  aspiration  since  the  Crusades — should 
have  been  founded  in  the  Duchy  of  Weimar.  It  was 
followed  by  the  "  Sincere  Society  of  the  Pine,"  in  Stras- 
burg,  in  1633 ;  the  "  German-thinking  Brotherhood,"  in 
Hamburg,  in  1643,  and  various  later  associations,  the 
objects  of  which  were  identical  or  related.  Now,  al- 
though literature  cannot  be  created  by  societies,  lite- 
rary influence  can  be ;  and  it  was  a  member  of  the  Order 
of  the  Palm  whose  example  and  success  made  the  High- 
German  the  exclusive  language  of  poetry,  as  Luther,  a 
hundred  years  before,  had  made  it  the  language  of 
prose. 

I  allude  to  Martin  Opitz,  the  founder  of  what  is  called 
the  Silesian  school.  He  was  born  in  1597,  some  years 
after  Fischart's  death,  and  died  in  1639.     His  short  life 


176  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

was  one  of  sucli  successful  labor,  when  we  consider  the 
unfortunate  time,  that  his  deserts,  on  account  of  what 
he  did  for  the  language,  overbalance  the  harm  which  he 
injSicted  upon  the  popular  taste  by  a  false  system.  His 
prose  work,  upon  the  principles  of  German  poetry, 
written  in  1624,  declared,  in  advance,  the  character  of 
nearly  all  the  poetic  literature  of  the  century.  His 
doctrine  is,  briefly,  that  the  author  should  use  only  the 
pure  High-German;  that  he  should  draw  his  themes 
from  Nature,  but  not  describe  things  as  they  are,  so 
much  as  represent  them  as  they  might  be,  or  ought  to 
be  ;  and,  finally,  that  his  only  models  should  be  the 
classic  authors.  Opitz  seems  to  have  followed  the 
French  work  of  Scaliger,  and  his  views  therefore  har- 
monize with  that  of  the  French  classical  school  of  the 
time.  He  was  both  crowned  as  a  poet  and  ennobled 
by  the  Emperor  Ferdinand  ;  he  received  official  stations 
and  honors,  and  his  influence  thus  became  much  more 
extended  and  enduring  than  the  character  of  his  works 
would  now  lead  us  to  suppose.  We  can  scarcely  say, 
in  fact,  that  he  was  taken  down  from  his  lofty  pedestal 
until  about  the  middle  of  the  last  century.  But  the 
establishment  of  the  literary  societies  and  the  example 
of  Opitz  certainly  saved  verse,  in  those  days,  from  the 
disgraceful  condition  into  which  prose  had  fallen ;  for, 
while  the  prose  writers  of  the  seventeenth  century 
utterly  lack  the  strength  and  dignity  and  tenderness 
and  idiomatic  picturesqueness  of  those  of  the  Eefor- 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.   I77 

mation,  either  expressing  tliemselves  awkwardly  and 
laboriously,  or  showing  the  taint  of  a  vulgar  dialect, 
the  poets,  with  all  their  pedantry  and  affectation, 
are  always  admirably  pure  in  language  and  careful  in 
diction. 

Opitz  was  a  man  of  the  world,  with  more  ambition 
than  principle.  A  Protestant,  he  could  become  the 
secretary  of  Count  Dohna,  who  used  torture  to  force 
Catholicism  upon  his  Silesian  vassals;  a  German,  he 
died  in  the  service  of  the  King  of  Poland.  Wo  could 
not  expect  to  find  the  fiery  sincerity  of  a  true  poet  ex- 
pressed in  such  a  life ;  and  we  do  not  find  it  in  his 
works.  In  form  and  language  he  is  almost  perfect : 
within  the  limits  which  he  fixed  for  himself,  he  displays 
an  exquisite  taste,  and  we  cannot  come  upon  his  works, 
directly  from  those  which  immediately  preceded  them, 
without  a  sudden  surprise  and  pleasure.  Take  the  two 
opening  stanzas  of  his  poem  "  To  the  Germans,"  which 
seems  to  have  been  inspired  by  some  event  of  the 
Thirty  Years'  War : 

Auff,  aiaff,  wer  Teutsche   Froy-  Up,  now!  who  German  Freedom 

heit  liebet,  loveth, 

Wer  Lust,  fiir  Gott  zu  fechtcn  And  who  for   God  is   proud  to 

hat  !  bleed  ! 

Der   Schein,   den   mancher  von  Mere  show  of  faith,  that  many 

sich  giebet  moveth, 

Verbringet  keinc  Eitter-that.  Was   never   nurse  of    knightly 

deed  ! 

Wann   fug   vnd   Vrsach   ist   zu  When  need  and  cause  command 

brecheu,  decision, 


178 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Wan  Feind  nicht  Frctind  melir      WTien  former  friends  as  foes  we 

bleiben  kan,  ban, 

Da  muss   man   nur  vom   Selien       Then  speecb  must  follow  clearer 

spreclien,  vision, 

Da  zeigt  das  Hertze  seinen  Mann.     And  by  liis  heart  we  know  the 

man. 


Lass    die    von    jhren    Krafften 

sagen. 
Die  schwach  vnd  bloss  von  Tu- 

gend  sind  : 
Mit   trotzen   wird   man    Bienen 

jagen, 
Ein  Sinn  von  Ehren,  der  gewinnt. 
Wie  gross  vnd  starck  der  Feind 

sich  mache, 
Wie  hoch  er  schwinge  Muth  vnd 

Schwerd, 
So  glaube  doch,  die  giite  Sache 

1st    hundert     tausend     Kopffe 
wsrth. 


They    on    their    strength    may 

prate  reliance 
Whose  virtue  's  weak,  and  bare, 

and  cold  : 
'Tis    chasing   bees    to  talk   de- 
fiance, 
But  Honor  wins  because  'tis  bold  ! 
Though  mightily  the   foe  may 

face  us. 
And  wave  a   sword  that  terror 

spreads. 
The  cause  each  true   man  now 

embraces 
Is   worth   a  hundred   thousand 

heads  I 


This  is  almost  the  German  of  to-day.  The  quaint, 
archaic  character  of  Fischart's  verses  and  Eber's  hymns 
has  suddenly  disappeared ;  we  hear  only  familiar  words 
and  melodies.  From  this  time  forward  the  language  of 
German  poetry  is  modern,  and  the  authors  must  be 
valued  according  to  our  present  standards.  I  will  quote 
one  other  brief  lyric  of  Opitz,  as  an  example  of  his  oc- 
casional grace  and  sweetness : 


EILE   DER  LIEBE. 

Ach  liebste,  lass  vns  eilen, 

Wir  haben  zeit : 
Es  schadet  das  verweilen 

Vns  beyderseit. 


THE  HASTE  OF  LOVE. 
Ah,  sweetheart,  let  us  hurry  I 

We  still  have  time. 
Delaying  thus  we  bury 

Our  mutual  prune. 


LITERATURE  OF  TUE  SEVEIfTEENTH  CENTURY.   I79 


Der  edlen  sclionheit  Gabeu 

Fliehn  fuss  fur  fuss, 
Dass  alles,  was  wir  Laben, 

Verschwinden  muss. 

Der  Wangen  Ziehr  verbleicliet, 
Das  Haar  wird  greiss, 

Der  Augen  Fewer  weicliet, 
Die  Brunst  wird  Eiss. 

Das  Miindlein  von  Corallen 

Wird  vngestalt, 
Die  Haud  als  Sclinee  verf alien, 

Vnd  du  wirst  alt. 

Drumb  lass  vns  jetzt  geniessen 

Der  Jugend  Fruclit, 
Eh'  als  wir  folgen  miissen 

Der  Jahre  Flucht. 

Wo  du  dicli  selber  liebest. 

So  liebe  mich  ! 
Gieb  mir  das,  waun  du  giebest 

Verlier  aucb  icli. 


Eeauty's  bright  gift  shall  perish 

As  leaves  grow  sere  : 
All  that  we  have  and  cherish 

Shall  disappear. 

The  cheek  of  roses  fadeth. 

Gray  grows  the  head  ; 
And  fire  the  eyes  evadeth. 

And  passion 's  dead. 

The  mouth,  love's  honeyed  win- 
ner, 
Is  formless,  cold  ; 
The  hand,  like  snow,  gets  thin- 
ner. 
And  thou  art  old  ! 

So  let  us  taste  the  pleasure 

That  youth  endears. 
Ere  we  are  called,  to  measure 

The  flying  years  ! 

Give,  as  thou  lov'st  and  livest. 

Thy  love  to  me. 
Even    though,    in    what     thou 
givest. 

My  loss  should  be  ! 


TliG  tendency  of  tlie  literary  societies,  like  tliat  of 
tlie  guilds  of  tlie  Master-singers,  was  to  increase  the 
quantity  of  aspirants  for  poetic  honors,  while  unfavor- 
ably affecting  the  quality  of  their  productions.  It  is 
probable- that  the  despotism  of  the  French,  or  pseudo- 
classical  ideas,  was  as  sovore,  in  its  way,  as  the  metrical 
rules  of  the  Masters  ;  but  it  was  a  despotism  of  princi- 
ples, not  of  mechanical  forms.  The  number  of  writers 
during  the  century  was  greater  than  that  of  the  six- 


180  GEEMAN  LITERATURE. 

teeutli,  and,  if  we  set  aside  Luther  and  Fiscliart  from 
the  latter,  their  average  performance  was  of  a  higher 
quality.  It  appears  to  be  a  level  which  we  are  crossing, 
but  there  is  a  gradual  ascending  slope  perceptible,  if 
we  look  a  little  closer.  There  is,  fortunately,  such  a 
radical  difference  of  spirit  between  the  German  and  the 
French  languages  that  the  power  of  imitation  is  limited : 
the  French  models  could  not  be  reproduced  without 
losing  much  of  their  original  character.  Moreover,  the 
religious  element,  to  some  extent,  operated  against  the 
foreign  influence  in  literature  ;  for,  about  the  middle  of 
the  century,  the  dry  theological  life  which  succeeded 
the  Eeformation  was  quickened  by  a  change.  Paul 
Gerhardt,  and  after  him  especially  Sj)ener,  inaugurated 
a  mild,  gentle,  half  ecstatic  form  of  devotion,  which  in- 
fected large  classes  throughout  Germany,  and  continued 
to  exist  and  operate  in  the  following  century.  It  was 
rather  a  sentiment  than  an  active  force  ;  and  coming  im- 
mediately after  the  misery  of  the  desolating  war,  it  had 
something  of  the  character  of  those  prayer-meetings 
which  business  men  hold  in  Wall  Street  during  a  finan- 
cial crisis,  and  at  no  other  time ;  yet  it  was  genuine, 
and  it  was  wholly  German — therefore  a  good  and  ne- 
cessar}^  agency,  which  operated  indirectly  upon  litera- 
ture. 

The  seventeenth  century  is  therefore  interesting  to 
lis  as  a  field  of  conflicting  influences,  and  it  is  curious 
to  see  how  they  sometimes  unconsciously  existed  side 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.    181 

by  side.  Tlie  Order  of  tlie  Palm,  for  instance,  contained 
nine  noble  members  to  one  commoner, — that  is,  nine 
who  habitually  used  the  French,  as  a  court-language,  yet 
were  associated  in  order  to  preserve  the  purity  of  Ger- 
man! Many  of  the  poets  of  the  Silesian  school  were 
nobles;  and  by  the  middle  of  the  century  the  reigning 
Saxon  princes  began  to  imitate  the  course  of  their  pre- 
decessors, four  or  five  hundred  years  before,  in  patron- 
izing Literature.  The  field  of  letters,  which  had  pre- 
viously been  Suabia,  Franconia  and  the  Upper  Khine, 
was  now  suddenly  transferred  to  Saxony  and  Silesia, 
and  all  the  noted  authors  of  the  century  were  produced 
there.  Fully  as  many  writers  appeared  as  during  the 
age  of  the  Minnesingers,  and  the  proportion  of  inferior 
talent  is  about  the  same.  I  must  necessarily  adopt  the 
same  j)lan  in  treating  of  them — select  the  few  who  lift 
themselves  above  the  general  level  of  mediocrity,  and 
let  the  rest  go,  for  the  present.  The  standard  of  lan- 
guage and  the  general  character  of  diction,  which  Opitz 
established,  were  followed  by  all  his  successors,  and  for 
this  reason  our  study  of  the  age  and  its  irregular  growth 
is  greatly  lightened. 

The  next  poet,  in  the  order  of  birth,  was  Paul  Flem- 
ming,  whose  short  life,  from  1609  to  1640,  interests  us  as 
much,  by  its  consistent  manliness  and  truth,  as  we  are 
repelled  by  the  worldliness  and  want  of  princijDle  of 
Martin  Opitz.  Longfellow,  you  will  remember,  gives 
Paul  Flemming's  name  to  the  hero  of  his  "  Hyperion." 


182  GERMAF  LITERATURE. 

He  was  a  Saxon,  tlie  son  of  a  wealthy  clergyman.  As 
a  young  man  lie  was  attached  to  an  embassy  sent  by  the 
Duke  of  Schleswig-Holstein  to  Moscow,  and  imme- 
diately after  his  return,  joined  the  famous  embassy  to 
Persia  which  was  described  by  Olearius.  The  priva- 
tions of  this  journey,  which  occuj^ied  four  years,  so 
undermined  his  health  that  he  died  in  a  year  after  his 
return  to  Germany.  He  had  just  taken  the  degree  of 
Doctor  of  Medicine  at  Leyden,  had  settled  in  Hamburg, 
and  was  preparing  for  his  marriage,  when  he  was  called 
away,  leaving  a  beautiful  legacy  in  his  poems.  He  sur- 
passes Opitz,  who  was  his  model,  in  warmth  and  ten- 
derness and  sincerity  of  tone.  There  is  less  of  a  cold, 
hard,  exquisite  polish  manifest  in  his  lines,  but  they 
are  more  simply  melodious  and  fluent.  If  Opitz,  in  his 
manner  only,  reminds  us  somewhat  of  Pope,  Plemming 
has  a  slight  resemblance  to  Collins.  He  possesses  one 
quality  w^hich  was  developed  by  his  many  years  of 
travel,  which  distinguishes  him  from  all  other  writers 
of  his  time,  and  which,  had  he  lived,  might  have  given 
him  a  much  greater  eminence :  he  had  a  clear,  objective 
power  of  looking  at  the  world  and  the  life  of  men. 
After  the  age  of  twenty-four,  but  two  years  of  his  life 
were  spent  in  Germany  ;  and  he  was  denied  that  rest  and 
quiet  development  which  might  have  emancipated  him 
from  the  literary  fashions  in  which  he  was  educated. 
That  he  would  have  so  emancipated  himself  I  think  is 
certain ;  for  he  shows  so  clear  and  healthy  a  vision,  so 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.    183 

broad  aud  warm  a  liumanity.  His  power  of  descrip- 
tion, moreoYer,  was  remarkably  vigorous  and  pictu- 
resque. The  opening  of  his  poem  on  a  cavalry  soldier 
reminds  us  at  once  of  old  George  Chapman  and  of 
Schiller : 

Ein  frischer  Heldenmulit  ist  iiber  alle  Schatze, 

\  si  iiber  alien  Neid  :  er  selbst  ist  sein  Gesetze, 

Sein  Mahl,  sein  Sold,  sein  Preiss.     Er  reisset  durch  die  Zeit, 

Vergniiget  sicli  durch  sich,  liisst  bey  sich  Ruh'  und  Streit, 

Inn  gleicher  Waage  stebu. 

In  all  that  Paul  Flemming  wrote — in  his  warlike 
alexandrines,  in  his  hymns,  his  sonnets,  and  in  his  lyrics 
and  madrigals — I  find  an  equal  excellence.  For  sweet- 
ness and  a  delicate  play  of  fancy,  some  of  his  sonnets 
approach  those  of  Petrarch,  and  there  is  more  genuine 
passion  in  the  address  to  his  soul,  entitled  "  Why  de- 
layest  thou  ? "  than  in  all  Opitz  ever  wrote.  Flem- 
ming's  poems  were  first  collected  and  published,  two 
years  after  his  death,  by  the  father  of  his  betrothed 
bride.  The  sonnet  which  he  wrote  on  his  death-bed  is 
a  good  illustration  both  of  his  genius  and  his  fine 
manhood : 

Ich  war  an  Kunst  und  Gut,  an  In  art,  wealth,  standing,  was  I 

Stande  gross  und  reicb,  strong  and  free  ; 

Dess  Qliickes  lieber  Sohu,  von  Of    honored    parents,    fortune's 

Eltern  guter  Ehren,  chosen  son, 

Frey,   Meine ;    kunte   mich   aus  Free,  and  mine  own,  and  mine 

meinen  Mitteln  nehren  ;  own  substance  won  ; 

Mein  shall  tloh  iiberweit  :  kcin  I  woke  far  echoes, — no  one  sang 

Landsmannsangmirglcich  ,  like  me  ; 


184 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Von   reisen    hochgepreist  ;    f  lir 

keiner  Miihe  bleich ; 
Jung,  wachsam,  unbesorgt.   Man 

wird  mich  nennen  horen, 
Biss  dass  die  lezte  Glut  diss  al- 

les  wird  verstoren. 
Diss,    Deutsclie     Klarien,    diss 

gantze  danck  icli  Eucli ! 
Verzeiht  mirs,  bin   iclis  wertli, 

GottjVater,  Llebste,  Freunde? 
Ich.  sag   Euch  gute   Naclit   und 

trete  willig  ab : 
Sonst  alles  ist  gethan  biss  an  das 

schwartze  Grab. 
Was  frey  dem  Tode  stelit,  das 

thu  er  seineni  Feinde  ! 
Was  bin  icb  viel  besorgt,  den 

Otliem  auffzugeben? 
An  mir  ist  minder  nicbts,  das 

lebet,  als  mein  Leben! 


Praised    for   my  travels,  toiling 

cheerfully, 
Young,      watchful,      eager,   — 

named  for  what  I've  done. 
Till    the   last    sands   of    earthy 

time  be  run. 
This,  German   Muses,  was  your 

legacy  ! 
God,  Father,   Dearest,  Friends, 

is  my  worth  so  1 
I  say  good  night,  and  now  must 

disappear : 
The  black  grave  waits,  all  else 

is  finished  here  : 
What  Death  may  do,  that  do  he 

to  his  foe ! 
To  yield  my  breath  shall  bring 

me  little  strife  : 
There's   naught  of   life   in  me 

that  less  lives  than  my  life! 


I  give  one  more  example,  for  tlie  sake  of  its  brief 
strengtli  and  grace : 


Lass  dich  nur  nichts  nicht  tauren    My    soul,    no    dark    depression 


mit  trauren  ! 

Sey  stille  ! 
Wie  Gott  es  f  iigt. 
So  sey  vergniigt, 

Mein  Wille ! 


borrow 

From  sorrow  I 
Be  still  ! 
As  God  disposeth  now. 
Be  cheerful  thou. 
My  will  ! 


Was  wilst  du  heute  sorgen 

auflf  morgen? 

der  eine 
steht  allem  filr ; 
Der  giebt  auch  dir 

das  deine  ! 


To-day,  why  wilt   thou  trouble 
borrow, 

For  to-morrow? 
One  alone 
Careth  for  all  that  be  : 
He'll  give  to  thee 

Thine  own  1 


LITEEATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEEN^TH  CENTURY.    185 

Sey  nur  in  alien  Handel  Stand,  then,  whatever  's  under- 
taken, 

olin  Wandel,  Unsliaken  ! 

Steh'  feste  !  Lift  up  thy  breast ! 

Was  Gott  beschleust,  Whatso  thy  God  ordains, 

das  ist  und  heisst  Is  and  remains 

das  beste.  The  best  ! 


Paul  riemming  is  anotlier  instance,  like  Schiller  and 
Burns  and  Charles  Lamb,  where  the  quality  of  the 
author's  character  becomes  a  part  of  his  fame.  One 
who  knows  nothing  of  his  personal  history  will  feel  his 
nature  in  his  works.  I  should  like  to  linger  longer  in 
his  company,  but  the  mild  eyes  of  Simon  Dach,  the 
huge  wig  of  Gryphius,  and  the  modest  dignity  of  Fried- 
rich  von  Logan's  attitude  warn  me  that  we  are  not  yet 
halfway  through  the  century. 

Of  Simon  Dach  there  is  little  to  be  said.  He  was 
born  on  the  eastern  verge  of  Germany,  at  Memel,  in  the 
beginning  of  the  century,  passed  the  greater  part  of  his 
life  as  Professor  of  Poetry  at  the  University  of  Konigs- 
berg,  and  died  in  1659.  He  was  a  follower  of  the  Sile- 
sian  school,  and  a  writer  of  many  hymns  which  combine 
correctness  of  form  with  sincere  devotional  feeling. 
His  natural  tendency  seems  to  have  been  to  imitate  the 
J'olkslieder,  or  common  songs  of  the  people,  and  how 
narrowly  he  missed  an  original  place  in  literature  may 
be  seen  from  the  popularity  of  his  song  "Anl'e  von 
Tliaraiv,''  which  every  German  knows  and  sings  at  this 
day.      It   is  written   in   the   Low-German   of  Eastern 


186 


GERMAN  LITEBATUBE. 


Prussia.  The  tradition  says  that  Annie  of  Tharaw  was 
betrothed  to  him  and  then  left  him  for  another,  where- 
upon he  wrote  the  tender  ballad  as  a  piece  of  bitter 
irony ;  but  the  same  story  is  told  of  the  authorship  of 
our  familiar  Scotch  ballad,  "  Annie  Lawrie,"  and  is  per- 
haps untrue  in  both  cases.  The  feeling,  in  both  the 
Scotch  and  the  Low-German  ballad,  is  very  similar,  as 
you  will  notice,  and  the  melodies  attached  to  both  are 
as  tender  as  the  words.  I  will  give  you  the  original,  and 
Longfellow's  admirable  translation : 


Anke  von   Tharaw  oss,    de  my 

gefollt, 
Se  OSS  iniliu  Lewen,   niilin  Goet 

on  milin  Gtilt. 


Annie  of  Tharaw,  my  true  love 

of  old, 
She  is  my  life,  and  my  goods, 

and  my  gold. 


Anke  von  Tharaw  hefft  wedder 

eer  Hart 
Op  my  geruchtet  on  Low  'on  cin 

Schmart. 


Annie  of  Tharaw,  her  heart  once 

again 
To  me  has  surrendered  in  joy 

and  in  pain. 


Anke  von  Tharaw  mihn  Eikh- 

dom,  mihn  Goet, 
Du  mihne  Seele,  mihn  Fleesch 

on  mihn  Bloet  ! 


Annie   of    TharaAv,    my   riches, 

my  good, 
Thou,  0  my  soul,  my  flesh,  and 

my  blood  ! 


Qudm  allet  Wedder  glihk  on  ons 

tho  schlahn, 
Wy  syn  gesonnt,  by  een  anger 

tho  stahn. 


Then  come  the  wild  weather, 
come  sleet  or  come  snow, 

We  will  stand  by  each  other 
however  it  blow. 


Kranckheit,  Berfiilguug,  Bedrtif-  Oppression,  and  sickness,  and 
ncis  on  Pihn,  sorrow,  and  pain 

Sal  vnsrer  Love,  Vernottinge  Shall  be  to  our  true  love  as 
syn.  links  to  the  chain. 


LITERATURE  OF  TUE  8EVE2TTEENTH  CENTURY.    187 

RecM  as  een  Palmen-Bolim  ilver  As  tlie   jjalm-treo    standeth    so 

sock  stocht,  straight  and  tall, 

Je  melir  en  Hagel  on  Regen  an-  The   more   the   hall  beats,   and 

focht  ;  the  more  the  rains  fall, — 

So  wardt  de  Low'  cin  ons  miichtich  So  love  in  our  hearts  shall  grow 

on  groht,  mighty  and  strong, 

Dorch    Kryhtz,    diirch     Lyden,  Through   crosses,   through  sor. 

dorch  alleriey  Noht.  rows,      through      manifold 

wrong. 

Weirdest  du  glihk  een  mal  von  Shouldst  thou  be  torn  from  me 

my  getrennt,  to  wander  alone, 

Leewdest     dar,     wor     om    dee  In  a  desolate  land  where  the  sun 

Sonne  kuhm  kennt  ;  is  scarce  known, — 

Eck  Weill  dy  f illgen  diirch  Wriler,  Through  forests  I'll  follow,  and 

dtirch  Miir,  where  the  sea  flows, 

Dorch  Yhss,  diirch  Ihsen,  dorch  Through  ice,  and  through  iron, 

fihndlocket  Hiihr.  through  armies  of  foes. 

Anke  von  Tharaw,  mihn  Licht,  Annie  of  Tharaw,  my  light  and 

mihne  Scinn,  my  sun, 

Mihn   Leven   schlucht    cick    tin  The  threads  of  our  two  lives  are 

dihnet  hentinn.  woven  in  one. 

Wat  cick  gebiide,  wart  van   dy  Whate'er   I   have   bidden    thee 

gedahn,  thou  hast  obeyed, 

Wat  ock  verbcide,  dat  liitstu  my  Whatever   forbidden  thou  hast 

stahn.  not  gainsaid. 

Wat  heft  de  Lcive  diich  ver  een  How  in  the  turmoil  of  life  can 

Bestand,  love  stand, 

Wor    nich    een   Hart   oss,    een  Where   there  is  not  one  heart, 

Mund,  eene  Hand  ?  and   one  mouth,    and    one 

hand? 

Wor  cim  scick  hartaget,  kabbelt  Some   seek  for  dissension,   and 

on  schleyht,  trouble,  and  strife  ; 

On  glihk  den  Ilungen  on  Katten  Like  a  dog  and  a  cat  live  such 

begeyht.  man  and  wife. 


188  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Anke  von  Tliaraw,  dat  war  wy  Aunie  of   Tliaraw,    sucli   is  not 

nicli  clolin,  our  love  ; 

Du    biist    myn   Dylifken,    myn  Tliou  art  my  lambkin,  my  chick, 

Schahpken,  mihn  Holin.  and  my  dove. 

Wat  ock  begehre,  begehrest  du  Whate'er  my  desire  is,  in  thine 
ohk,  may  be  seen  ; 

Eck  laht  den  Eock  dy,  du  hiitst  I  am  king  of  the  household,  and 
my  de  Brohk.  thou  art  its  queen. 

Dit  OSS  dat,  Anke,  du  soteste  It  is  this,  0  my  Annie,  my 
Ruh,  heart's  sweetest  rest, 

Een  Lihf  on  Seele  wart  uht  tick  That  makes  of  us  twain  but  one 
on  Du.  soul  in  one  breast. 

Dit    mahckt    dat     Lewen  tom       This  turns  to  a  heaven  the  hut 

Hammlischen  Rihk,  where  we  dwell ; 

Dorch  Zanken  wart  et  der  Hel-       While  wrangling  soon  changes 

len  gelihk.  a  home  to  a  hell. 

We  cannot  wonder  tliat  the  peasant-poets  were  silent 
during  this  century.  The  people  had  suffered  too 
sorely  to  sing  much  else  than  those  devotional  poems, 
in  which  they  were  directed  to  find  consolation.  This 
was  the  greatest  misfortune  bequeathed  by  the  Thirty 
Years'  War — that  the  nobles,  as  a  class,  soon  repaired 
their  losses  and  enjoyed  their  former  state,  while  the 
people  were  so  bruised  and  crippled,  so  weak  and  des- 
titute of  the  means  of  recovering  their  strength,  that 
their  material  condition  was  probably  worse,  and  their 
opportunities  for  development  less,  than  under  the  Ho- 
henstaufen  Emperors.  The  war  lasted  so  long  that  it 
finally  educated  its  own  soldiery,  from  whose  brutal 
character  no  decent  song  of  battle  could  be  expected. 
A  later  generation,  at  the  end  of  the  century,  gave  us 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY,    189 

one  song,  or  ratlier  ballad  of  war,  wliicli  lias  outlived 
all  the  otliers  of  the  time  —  the  well-known  "  Prinz 
Eugeniits,  der  edle  Bitter,^'  which  celebrates  the  bravery 
of  Prince  Eugene  of  Savoy  at  the  battle  of  Belgrade. 
The  fifteenth  and  the  sixteenth  centuries  were  much  more 
prolific  in  folk-songs,  and  they  were  of  a  better  literary 
character  than  those  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

Returning  to  the  Silesian  school,  we  find  that  the  first 
important  successor  of  Opitz  was  Andreas  Gryphius, 
also  a  Silesian,  born  in  1616.  He  was  well  educated,  a 
remarkable  philologist  for  his  time,  familiar  with  the 
classical  and  Oriental  languages  and  all  the  living 
tongues  of  Europe ;  he  traveled  for  two  years,  visiting 
Italy  and  England,  became  Syndic  of  Glogau,  his  native 
place,  and  died  in  1664.  Gryphius  must  be  placed  be- 
low Opitz  as  a  lyric  poet,  although  in  form  and  finish 
he  is  an  equal ;  but  he  did  not  create  a  school,  like 
the  latter.  He  only  obeyed  the  laws  which  had  been 
already  adopted.  His  poetry  has  a  melancholy,  almost 
a  dreary  character :  his  favorite  themes  were  church- 
yards, death,  and  rest  after  troubles.  But  he  deserves 
to  l)e  specially  mentioned  as  a  dramatic  author.  He 
was  the  first  to  elevate  the  dramatic  literature  of  Ger- 
many, which,  up  to  this  time,  seems  to  have  been  chiefly 
modeled  on  the  puppet  plays  and  miracle  plays.  As  a 
good  English  scholar,  Gryphius  had  the  highest  models, 
and  one  of  his  comedies,  "Peter  S(p!e7}?.e"  gives  tolera- 
bly clear  evidence  that  he  was  acquainted  with  Shake- 


190  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

speare.  It  is  true  tliat  Peter  Quince  of  tlie  "  Midsum- 
mer Night's  Dream  "  was  already  known  in  Germany,  as 
a  character,  through  the  English  traveling  actors  ;  but 
Gryphius  imitates  the  device  of  a  play  within  a  play, 
from  the  "Pyramus  and  Thisbe"  of  Shakespeare.  His 
tragedies  of  "Leo  Armenius,'"  ''Pcqjiman'  and  "Karl 
Stuart "  are  declamatory  and  grandiloquent,  somewhat 
like  those  of  Dryden's  famous  rival,  Elkanah  Settle ; 
but  they  at  least  inaugurated  in  Germany  a  much 
better  character  of  dramatic  art.  In  this  respect,  we 
must  give  Gryphius  a  similar  credit  to  that  which  we 
have  given  to  Opitz  :  he  advanced  the  literary  standard 
of  his  day.  After  the  models  which  they  furnished, — 
the  one  in  purity  of  language  and  the  external  structure 
of  verse,  the  other  in  the  dramatic  treatment  of  a  proper 
subject, — no  author  dared  to  return  to  the  imperfect 
standard  of  previous  times.  There  was  thus  a  general 
advance  of  skill  and  taste,  in  spite  of  the  adherence  to 
a  false  system.  We  see  something  similar  in  the  phe- 
nomena of  our  American  literature  at  the  present  day. 
But  the  "  sensational "  element,  as  it  is  called,  which 
has  crept  into  English  and  American  literature,  is  even 
worse  in  its  effect  on  the  mental  habits  of  the  people 
than  was  the  affected  classicism  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury ;  for  it  goes  beyond  "  the  modesty  of  nature,"  in- 
stead of  falling  below  it. 

"With  Andreas  Gryphius  the  first  Silesian  school  came 
to  an  end.     Vilmar,  in  his  history  of  the  period,  gives 


LITEBATURE  OF  THE  SEVEyTEENTE  CENTURY.    191 

some  curious  examples  of  its  affectations,  and.  some  of 
tliem  remind  us  of  similar  features  in  the  English  litera- 
ture of  the  last  century.  Where  the  earliest  German 
poets  used  simple  substantives,  as  night,  the  forest,  the 
sea,  the  mediaeval  authors  added  the  most  obvious  ad- 
jectives, as  dark  night,  the  greenicood,  the  blue  sea.  The 
Silesians  made  a  deliberate  chase  after  elegant  and 
original  words,  and  the  discovery  of  a  new  adjective  was 
a  cause  of  rejoicing  to  the  brotherhoods  of  the  Palm  and 
the  Pine.  Thus,  black  evening  was  first  adopted ;  but 
presently  some  fortunate  poet  hit  upon  broivn,  and  all 
evenings  were  bro^^ii,  to  the  end  of  the  century.  You 
will  find  the  same  word,  applied  to  evening  and  shade, 
by  Gray  and  Collins  ;  and  morning,  you  will  notice,  was 
nearly  always  j^^'^T^c  in  the  last  centiuy.  In  the  sen- 
sational school,  now-a-days,  all  things  are  opal,  topaz, 
emerald  or  ruby ;  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  we  can  get 
any  farther.  Opitz  established  the  fashion :  he  made 
all  tears  salt,  all  water  (jlctssy,  all  north-stars  cold,  for  his 
followers.  The  earth,  according  to  his  mood,  was  either 
a  great  round,  a  beautiful  round  or  a  desolcde  round. 
Addison  calls  it  a  *'  terrestrial  ball,"  and  Tennyson 
styles  the  moon  "  an  argent  round." 

Now,  you  can  readily  imagine  that  after  Opitz  and 
Gryphius  had  been  accepted  as  models,  their  later  fol- 
lowers, being  utterly  deficient  in  original  genius,  knew 
nothing  else  to  do  but  to  copy  and  exaggerate  their  most 
obvious  characteristics.     This  is,  in  fact,  the  distinction 


192  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

of  Avliat  is  called  the  second  Silesian  scliool.  It  rose 
into  existence,  toward  the  end  of  the  century,  under  the 
leadershijD  of  two  noblemen,  Hoffmanswaldau  and  Lo- 
heustein.  Let  me  give  you  a  single  specimen  from  the 
first  of  these,  and  I  think  you  will  require  no  further 
illustration  of  the  character  of  the  school :  "  Your  coun- 
tenance gives  strength  and  light  to  the  stars.  The  year 
has  four  seasons,  you  but  one,  for  the  spring  always 
blossoms  on  your  lips.  Winter  does  not  approach  you, 
and  the  sun  is  hardly  permitted  to  shine  beside  the 
beam  of  your  eyes.  You  carry  virtue  in  a  splendid 
purple  dish,  ornamented,  as  it  seems,  with  white  ivory : 
your  mouth  is  the  retreat  of  a  thousand  nightingales, 
and  the  tongues  of  angels  beg  to  be  admitted  therein  as 
servants."  Add  to  such  stuff  as  this  the  mechanical 
jingle  of  Siegmund  von  Birken— whom  Southey  seems 
to  have  imitated  in  his  "  Falls  of  Lodore," — the  tiresome 
melodies  of  Christian  Gryphius,  the  literary  son  of  his 
father  Andreas,  and  the  blood-and-thunder  tragedies  of 
Lohenstein,  and  we  cannot  help  feeling  that  the  only 
use  of  this  second  Silesian  school  was  to  create  such  a 
disgust  with  the  system,  that  a  reaction  must  inevitably 
follow.  So,  in  England,  the  bombast  and  nonsense  of 
the  aristocratic  waiters,  of  exactly  the  same  period,  was 
followed  by  the  revival  of  Queen  Anne's  time. 

This  is  the  translation  of  a  passage  from  Siegmund 
von  Birken,  which  may  have  suggested  the  tinkling 
music  in  the  "  Falls  of  Lodore  "  : 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.    193 

WELCOME   TO   SPEING. 

They're  glancing,  entrancing  and  dancing. 

The  blossoming  meadows ; 
While  gleametli,  and  beameth,  and  streameth 

The  dew  in  the  shadows. 
They're  spreading,  and  wedding,  and  shedding, 

The  freshly-leaved  branches ; 
And  rustle,  and  hustle  with  bustle 

The  wind  as  it  launches. 
They  spring  out,  and  sing  out,  and  ring  out. 

The  pipes  in  their  blowing  ; 
In  daytime  the  playtime  of  May-time 

The  shepherds  are  showing. 

But  there  was  one  man,  also  a  Silesian,  yet  standing 
as  much  alone  as  Milton,  and  Drjden  after  him,  whose 
works  are  as  the  shadow  of  a  rock  in  a  weary  land. 
This  is  Friedrich  von  Logau,  another  of  the  neglected 
minds  who  first  received  recognition  and  critical  justice 
from  Lessiug.  He  was  born  in  1604,  educated  at  Brieg, 
in  Silesia,  where  he  was  a  page  in  the  house  of  the 
reigning  Duke,  and  afterward,  having  studied  jurispru- 
dence, an  official  in  the  chancery  of  the  Duchy.  He 
was  poor,  dependent  on  a  small  salary,  and  his  life  was 
one  of  toil  and  trouble.  A  complete  collection  of  his 
aphorisms,  epigrams  and  lyric  poems  was  published 
under  the  name  of  Salomon  von  Golaw,  in  1654,  and  in 
the  following  year  he  died.  Five  or  six  years  before 
his  death,  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Order  of  the 
Palm  ;  but  he  seems  to  have  had  very  little  intercourse 
with  the  other  Silesian  members,  and  his  works  show 
only  slight  traces  of  the  influence  of  the  school. 
9 


194  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Friedricli  von  Logau  is  a  noble  cliaracter,  in  wliatever 
aspect  we  consider  liim.  He  was  an  earnest  thinker  in 
a  tliouglitless  time ;  lie  was  a  strong,  believing,  aspiring 
soul,  a  man  of  steadfast  integrity  and  virtue,  in  an  age 
of  lawlessness  and  vice.  His  possessions  were  wasted 
by  tlie  terrible  war;  Wallenstein's  troo23S  overran  tlie 
Ducliy,  and  left  a  trail  of  barbarism  behind  them ;  but 
nothing  could  shake  his  inherent  goodness  and  bravery 
for  the  sake  of  good.  The  thousand  brief  aphorisms 
which  he  has  left  were  written  as  they  came  to  him 
during  a  period  of  twenty-five  years  of  labor :  they  are 
simply  the  necessary  recreation  of  his  mind.  The  gov- 
erning principle  of  his  life  was  to  do  his  nearest  duty, 
and  he  only  gave  to  letters  the  time  which  he  could  spare 
from  his  office  and  the  care  of  his  family.  The  follow- 
ing couplet  of  Logau,  which  is  almost  proverbial  to-day, 
will  be  readily  recognized  in  Longfellow's  translation : 

Gottes  Miililen  malilen  langsam,       Tliougli  tlie  mills  of  God  grind 
malilen  aber  trefflich  klein  ;  slowly,  yet  tliey  grind  ex- 

ceeding small ; 
Ob  aus  Langmut  er  sicb  saumet,       Tliougli  with,  patience  lie  stands 
bringt  mit  Scliarf  er  alles  ein.  waiting,    with     exactness 

grinds  he  all. 

This  image  of  a  mill  seems  to  have  been  a  favorite 
with  him.  I  find  the  following  satirical  allusion  to 
some  one  of  his  acquaintance: 

Fungus'  mouth  is  like  a  mill,  and  as  fast  as  ever  ran  ; 

For  each  handful  wit  it  grinds,  there's  a  bushel  wordy  bran. 


LITER Al  URE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.    195 
Here  is  another: 

A  mill-stone  and  the  human  heart  are  whirled  forever  round : 
Where  either  nothing  has  to  grind,  it  must  itself  be  ground. 

Tliis  is  tlie  general  character  of  Logan's  aphorisms — 
brief,  pithy,  witty,  but  with  an  underlying  tone,  either 
of  wisdom,  or  satire,  or  faith,  or  tenderness.  Many  of 
his  couplets  or  verses  have  strayed  away  from  him,  and 
are  used  at  this  day  by  thousands  who  never  guess 
whence  they  came.  I  remember  that  when  I  first  tra- 
veled on  foot  through  Germany,  I  often  saw  these  lines 
in  the  StamiiibUcher,  or  albums,  of  the  traveling  journey- 
men whom  I  met  on  the  highways : 

Hoffnung  ist  ein  fester  Stab, 
Und  Geduld  ein  Reisekleid, 
Da  man  mit  durch  Welt  und  Grab 
Wandelt  in  die  Ewigkeit. 

These  lines  I  afterward  found  in  Logau's  aphorisms. 
Like  all  genuine,  thinking  brains,  his  pages  are  full  of 
suggestions  of  the  expressions  of  later  and  more  fortu- 
nate authors.  Goethe  says  :  "  Es  irrt  der  Menscli,  so 
lang  er  strebt,"  but  Logau  had  said  before  him — "  Dass 
ich  irre,  bleibt  gewiss,  alldieweil  ein  Mensch  ich  bin." 
Logau  wrote : 

"  Frlihling  ist  des  Jahres  Rose  ;  Rosen  sind  des  Friihlings  Zier  ; 
Und  der  Rosen  Rosenfiirstin  seyd  und  heissct  billig  Ihr' ;" 

and  two  hundred  years  after  him  Tennyson  wrote : 

"Queen  rose  of  the  rosebud  garden  of  girls, 
Queen  lily  and  rose  in  one." 


196  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

The  modern  German  poet  Riickert  says :  "  Eepetition 
is  compensation  for  the  transitory  bliss" — and  we  find 
in  Logan  "  The  best  nourishment  of  pleasure  is  repeated 
pleasure."  I  might  extend  this  list  of  correspondences, 
and  thus  prove,  backward,  the  genuine  quality  of  Lo- 
gan's genius.  There  could  be  no  greater  contrast  than 
between  the  members  of  the  second  Silesian  school, 
with  their  thin  and  weak  pretense  of  ideas,  their  in- 
flated diction  and  deluge  of  interminable  works,  and  this 
hard-working,  lonely,  modest  man,  crowding  his  honest 
thought  and  sound  reflection  into  a  few  brief  lines,  and 
giving  them  to  the  world  under  an  assumed  name.  He 
might  have  furnished  not  only  all  of  them,  but  also  the 
devotional  poets,  Gerhard  and  Franck,  with  a  better 
material  than  they  found.  There  are  several  sermons 
and  hymns  compressed  into  these  four  lines  of  Logau : 

Mensclilicli  ist  es,  Siinde  treiben  ; 
Teuflisch  ist 's,  in  Slinden  bleiben  ; 
Christlich  ist  es,  Siinde  bassen  ; 
Gottlieb  ist  es,  Silnd'  erlassen. 

During  the  whole  of  the  seventeenth  century,  there  is 
no  prose  which  at  all  approaches  that  of  Luther  in 
simplicity  and  strength.  We  find,  it  is  true,  that  the 
provincialism  of  the  writers, — the  marks  of  their  par- 
ticular dialects, — begin  to  disappear,  and  the  pure  High- 
German,  under  the  influence  of  the  literary  societies, 
is  gradually  gaining  ground ;  but  the  popular  sources 
from  which  Luther  drew  so  much  are  neglected.     Both 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.    197 

Silesian  schools,  but  especially  the  second,  operated 
unfavorably  upon  the  prose  style  of  the  day.  Opitz  and 
Gryphius  taught  a  hard,  cold,  formal  manner,  whereby 
the  language  loses  much  of  its  native  life  and  warmth, 
and  the  second  school  was  such  a  mixture  of  affectation 
and  bombast,  that  many  of  its  productions  now  seem  to 
us  to  be  intentional  parodies  of  their  authors.  Lohen- 
stein's  romance  of  "Arminius  and  Thusnelda,"  covering 
nearly  3,000  quarto  pages,  printed  in  double  columns,  is 
simply  monstrous  :  we  marvel  that  an  individual  should 
commit,  or  a  public  endure,  such  an  overwhelming  of- 
fense. But  we  remember  how  our  own  ancestors  were 
fascinated  with  Clarissa  Harlow,  and  how  the  German 
public  of  to-day  reads  the  nine  volumes  and  4,000  pages 
of  Gutzkow's  " Zauherer  von  Rom" 

The  best  prose  work  of  the  time  is  certainly  Grim- 
melhausen's  " Simjjlicissimus"  which  bears  nearly  the 
same  relation  to  the  pompous  romances  of  the  Silesian 
authors  as  Fielding  to  Richardson.  It  is  a  story  of 
common  life,  told  in  bare,  clear,  racy  language,  and  with 
the  same  fresh  realism  which  we  find  in  "  Tom  Jones  " 
and  "  Joseph  Andrews."  Next  in  value  I  should  rank 
the  homilies  and  didactic  writings  of  the  monk  Abraham 
a  Santa  Clara,  which  are  also  simple  in  tone,  and  really 
effective  because  they  betray  no  straining  after  effect. 
Zinkgref 's  historical  sketches,  the  travels  of  Olearius, 
and  the  orations  of  Baron  Canitz,  have,  at  least,  the 
merit  of  being  tolerable  where  nearly  all  is  j^ositively 


198  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

bad.  We  can  only  say  that  tlie  average  performance 
of  tlie  prose  writers  is  liiglier  at  the  close  than  it  -nas  at 
the  beginning  of  the  century.  The  language  by  this 
time  was  sufficiently  developed,  and  the  excellences  and 
faults  of  its  literature  so  abundantly  manifested,  that  it 
was  ready  for  the  use  of  better  intellects.  These  came, 
soon  afterward,  in  Haller  and  Hagedorn  and  Gellert — 
then  followed  the  first  master-mind  of  the  great  modern 
j)eriod,  Lessing. 

In  studying  this  long  and  interrupted  intellectual  his- 
tory of  the  German  race,  we  must  beware  of  confining 
our  interest  to  individual  authors,  or  even  to  particular 
eras.  This  seventeenth  century,  which  we  have  been 
considering,  becomes  a  tedious  field  of  research  if  we 
separate  it  from  the  centuries  before  and  after  it.  Each 
author  must  be  judged,  first,  in  relation  to  his  own 
time,  and  the  temporary  influences  which  gave  char- 
acter to  his  works  ;  then,  by  the  absolute  standard  of 
achievement,  by  his  contribution  to  the  permanent  ele- 
ments of  growth  in  his  country  and  in  the  world. 
Unless  we  acquire  this  latter  and  broader  habit  of  vision, 
we  may  fail  to  see  the  true  meaning  of  many  lives,  the 
true  importance  of  many  historical  periods ;  and  we  shall 
surely  derive  from  the  general  survey  one  lesson  which 
might  escape  us  if  we  looked  only  to  particulars — one 
lesson  of  the  greatest  value  to  every  young  American 
whose  tastes  or  talents  lead  him  toward  literature  : — 
that  nothing  is  more  delusive  than  the  fashion  of  the 


LITERATURE  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.    199 

day :  that  tlie  immediate  popularity  of  a  work  is  no  test 
whatever  of  its  excellence  :  that  the  writer  who  consults 
the  general  moods  or  likings  of  the  public  is  never 
likely  to  achieve  genuine  and  permanent  success  : — while 
he  who  considers  only  the  truth  of  his  thought,  the 
simplicity  and  clearness  of  its  expression,  and  its  proba- 
ble value  to  all  humanity,  may  seem  to  be  disparaged 
or  neglected  for  a  time,  but  shall  surely  be  acknowl- 
edged by  that  everlasting,  lofty  intelligence  of  men 
which  is  above  all  fleeting  fashions  of  literature. 


Yn. 

LESSING. 

We  now  reach  a  period  where  tlie  language  is  wholly 
modern.  We  find  no  difi'erence,  except  in  style  and 
habit  of  thought,  between  the  authors  of  Queen  Anne's 
time  and  those  of  our  own  day :  so  our  German  brother 
finds  no  greater  difference  between  the  present  and  the 
authors  who  were  born  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago. 
From  this  period,  we  are  able  to  contrast  and  compare 
the  two  languages,  as  they  are  now  spoken,  and  thus  to 
appreciate  intelligently  the  two  literatures. 

Instead  of  giving  a  general  historical  survey  of  modern 
German  Literature,  I  shall  take  up,  in  the  order  of  their 
lives,  the  six  most  prominent  authors,  and,  by  describing 
them  and  their  works  separately,  give  you,  through 
them,  a  picture  of  the  times  in  which  they  lived.  They 
are — Lessing,  Klopstock,  Wieland,  Herder,  Schiller  and 
Goethe.  The  great  era  of  German  Literature,  which 
they  created,  corresponds  to  the  Augustan  in  Kome  and 
the  Elizabethan  in  England — an  era  which  commenced 
about  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  and  terminated,  with 
the  death  of  Goethe,  in  the  year  1832.  Within  the  pre- 
scribed limits,  it  will  not  be  possible  to  give  a  complete 

200 


LE8SING.  201 

history  of  tlie  period  ;  because,  more  tliau  the  literature 
of  any  other  language,  that  of  Germany,  on  account  of 
the  larger  culture  of  its  creative  minds,  is  connected 
with  the  contemporary  literature  of  the  rest  of  Europe. 
We  cannot  dissociate  it,  as  we  can  that  of  England  and 
of  France,  from  the  influence  of  foreign  thought  and  the 
literary  fashions  prevalent  in  other  countries.  But  the 
life  of  every  author,  who  has  shared  in  shaping  the 
development  of  his  generation,  always  reflects,  in  an 
individual  form,  the  influences  which  affect  the  class  to 
which  he  speaks,  since  he  must  admit  them  and  take 
them  into  account,  although  he  himself  may  remain 
comparatively  independent.  I  hope,  therefore,  that  an 
account  of  the  men  who  have  created  the  modern  litera- 
ture of  Germany  will,  at  the  same  time,  enable  us  to 
estimate  the  character  of  that  literature,  and  its  im- 
portance as  an  element  of  human  develojDment. 

One  who  is  familiar  with  the  German  language  will 
have  little  difficulty  in  selecting  the  characteristics  which 
distinguish  the  literature  of  Germany  from  that  of  other 
nations.  You  are  aware  that  the  German  language  is 
subtle,  rich  and  involved  in  its  structure;  while  the 
English,  with  an  even  greater  flexibility,  generally  re- 
mains realistic,  simple  and  direct.  These  prominent 
characteristics  repeat  themselves  in  the  two  literatures, 
for  speech  and  thought  have  a  reciprocal  influence.  A 
great  genius  partly  forces  the  language  he  uses  to  adapt 
itself  to  his  own  intellectual  quality,  and  he  is  partly 
9* 


202  GERMAN  LITEBATUBE. 

forced  by  tlie  language  to  submit  liis  intellect  to  its  laws. 
Apart  from  this  circumstance,  Lowever,  the  natural 
tendency  of  a  German  author  is  to  exj^ress  himself  in 
accordance  with  an  intellectual  system,  which  he  has 
discovered  or  imagined,  and  adopted  as  his  own ;  while 
the  English  author,  if  he  be  honest,  is  more  concerned 
for  the  thing  he  expresses,  and  its  effect,  than  for  its  fit- 
ness as  a  part  of  any  such  system.  In  the  private  cor- 
respondence of  the  German  authors,  we  find  their  works 
reciprocally  analyzed,  according  to  the  literary  prin- 
cij)les  of  each ;  their  conceptions  are  tested  by  abstract 
laws;  and  felicities  of  expression,  which  an  English  critic 
usually  notices  first,  are  with  them  a  secondary  interest. 

Now,  where  such  theories,  or  systems,  harmonize  with 
the  eternal  canons  of  Literary  Art — and  of  all  Art,  the 
key  to  which  may  be  given  in  three  words,  Elevation, 
Proportion,  Bepose — they  help,  not  hinder,  the  author's 
best  development.  Goethe,  Lessing  and  Schiller  are 
illustrious  examples  of  this.  But  where  the  system 
reflects  some  special  taste,  some  strong  personal  ten- 
dency, as  in  the  cases  of  Klopstock,  Wieland  and  Rich- 
ter,  it  carries  its  own  limitations  along  with  it.  The 
author  who  allows  himself  to  be  thus  circumscribed, 
may  become  ruler  over  some  fair  province  of  literature, 
but  he  cannot  belong  to  the  reigning  line  of  the  king- 
dom. 

This  tendency,  perhaps,  explains  the  fact  that  German 
literature  seems  to  reflect  a  greater  range  of  intellectual 


LESsmo.  203 

and  spiritual  experience  than  ours.  It  is  more  frank, 
intimate  and  confidential — sometimes  to  a  degree  which 
is  almost  repellant  to  Anglo-Saxon  reserve  ;  for  tho 
author  is  less  careful  to  conceal  the  operations  of  his 
mind ; — it  touches  the  nature  of  man  on  many  sides,  and 
endeavors  to  illuminate  all  the  aspects  of  life.  Tho 
theoretic  tendencies  of  its  authors  do  little  harm,  for 
they  counteract  each  other — na}^,  they  often  do  good  by 
substituting  a  fashion  of  thought  for  the  narrower  form 
of  a  fashion  in  expression. 

During  the  whole  of  the  seventeenth  century  and  the 
beginning  of  the  eighteenth,  as  I  have  already  said,  the 
literary  history  of  Germany  may  almost  be  compared 
to  a  desert.  The  annals  of  scarcely  any  other  modern 
nation  show  such  a  long  period  of  barrenness.  But 
early  in  the  last  century,  Gleim  and  Gellert  were  born 
— two  authors  who  seem  to  have  been  destined  to  stand 
between  tlie  waste  that  went  before  and  the  harvest 
which  followed.  They  are  thus  important  or  insignifi- 
cant, according  to  the  side  from  which  we  look  at  them. 
But,  even  before  they  had  reached  their  productive 
activity,  greater  minds  were  in  the  world.  In  the  year 
1724,  Klopstock  was  born ;  in  1729,  Lessing ;  in  1733, 
Wieland ;  in  1744,  Herder ;  in  1749,  Goethe ;  in  1759, 
Schiller,  and  in  1762,  Kichter.  Every  six  years  a  new 
name,  destined  to  be  an  independent,  victorious,  per- 
manent power. 

Great  men  never  come  upon  an  age  entirely  unpre- 


204  OERMAN  LITERATURE. 

pared  to  receive  them.  The  secret  influences  which 
culminated  in  a  fierce  social  and  political  crisis,  toward 
the  end  of  the  centxiry,  were  already  at  work,  and  there 
must  have  been  a  large  class  of  receptive  minds  capable 
of  sustaining  those  which  were  born  to  create.  For 
these  latter,  however,  a  season  of  struggle  was  certain. 
There  is  a  vast  difference  between  the  silent  and  the 
spoken  protest.  The  courts,  the  universities  and  the 
clergy,  at  that  time,  held  a  despotic  sway  over  opinion 
and  taste.  The  young  author  made  haste  to  secure  his 
titled  patron,  and  paid  by  flattery  for  the  little  freedom 
of  expression  which  he  was  allowed  to  exercise.  We 
can  best  measure  the  stagnation  of  the  period,  and  its 
general  subservience  to  authority,  by  the  angry  excite- 
ment which  followed  every  attempt  at  literary  indepen- 
dence. The  richest  gifts  were  repelled;  the  ways  to 
larger  liberty  were  closed  as  fast  as  they  were  opened ; 
and  the  present  glory  of  the  German  race  was  for  a  long 
time  resisted  as  if  it  were  a  shame. 

The  man  who  first  broke  a  clear,  broad  path  out  of 
this  wilderness  was  Gotthold  Ephraim  Lessing.  I 
choose  him  first  because  he  was  the  true  pioneer  of 
German  thought — because  his  life  was  "  a  battle  and  a 
march  " — a  long  and  bitter  fight  for  truth,  tolerance  and 
freedom.  If  his  greatest  merits  seem  to  have  been  over- 
shadowed for  a  time  by  the  achievements  of  others,  they 
come  all  the  more  clearly  to  light  in  that  distance  of 
time  which  gives  us  the  true  perspective  of  men.     We 


LE8SING.  205 

seo  liim  now  as  lie  was,  an  unsliaken  liero  of  literature, 
always  leading  a  forlorn  hope,  always  armed  to  the 
teeth,  always  confident  of  the  final  victory.  I  know  of 
no  finer  instance  of  justified  self-reliance  than  is  fur- 
nished by  his  life. 

He  was  born  in  Camenz,  a  small  Saxon  town,  where 
his  father  was  a  clergyman  of  scanty  means  and  of  a 
severe  and  stubborn  nature.  Being  the  eldest  son,  it 
was  meant  that  he  should  follow  his  father's  calling. 
At  the  age  of  twelve  he  was  sent  to  school  at  Meissen, 
and  three  years  afterward  to  the  University  of  LeijDzig. 
But  even  as  a  boy  he  asserted  his  independence,  entirely 
neglecting  theological  studies,  and  devoting  himself  to 
languages,  literature  and  the  drama.  The  dictator  in 
literary  matters  in  Leipzig,  at  that  time,  was  Gottsclied, — 
a  man  of  some  ability,  but  pedantic,  conventional  and 
arrogant  to  the  last  degree.  The  boy  Lessing  was  one 
of  the  first  to  dispute  his  authority.  He  became  a  con- 
tributor to  literary  journals,  writing  anacreontic  lyrics 
or  stinging  criticisms,  according  to  his  mood,  and  in  his 
eighteenth  year  completed  a  comedy,  "Der  junge  Gc- 
lehrte  "  (The  Young  Savant),  which  was  performed  soon 
afterward.  Even  at  that  age,  he  recognized  clearly  the 
characteristics  of  French  and  of  English  literature,  and 
became  a  partisan  for  the  latter,  in  order  to  resist  the 
French  influence  which  was  then  so  powerful  in  Ger- 
many. In  a  short  time,  he  stood  almost  alone  :  there 
were  few  hands  (or,  at  least,  pens)  that  were  not  raised 


206  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

against  liim.  So  j)oor  that  lie  was  barely  able  to  live, 
he  was  called  immoral  and  profligate ;  his  contempt  of 
the  reigning  pedantry  was  ascribed  to  a  barbaric  want 
of  taste ;  and  his  refusal  to  devote  himself  to  theology 
was  set  down  as  atheism.  The  slanders  prevalent  in 
Leipzig  reached  his  home,  and  were  followed  by  angry 
or  reproachful  letters  from  his  father.  The  patience  and 
the  good  sense  with  which  he  endured  these  troubles 
are  remarkable  in  one  so  young.  In  one  of  his  letters, 
he  quotes  from  Plautus  the  words  of  a  father  who  is 
discontented  with  his  son ;  in  another,  referring  to  his  re- 
fusal to  become  a  clergyman,  he  says  boldly  :  "  Keligion 
is  not  a  thing  which  a  man  should  accept  in  simple  faith 
and  obedience  from  his  parents," — meaning  that  it  must 
be  developed  through  the  aspiration  of  the  indi\ddual  soul. 
In  his  twenty-first  year,  Lessing  went  to  Berlin, 
where  he  succeeded  in  supporting  himself  by  literary 
labor.  He  made  the  acquaintance  of  Moses  Mendels- 
sohn, Eamler  and  the  poets  Gleim  and  Yon  Kleist,  and 
his  mind  began  to  develop  rapidly  and  vigorously  in  a 
fresher  and  freer  intellectual  atmosphere.  Notwith- 
standing his  scanty  earnings,  he  managed  to  collect  a 
valuable  library,  and  to  contribute  small  sums  from 
time  to  time  for  the  education  of  his  younger  brothers. 
In  the  year  1755  his  play  of  "Miss  Sara  Sampson  "  was 
completed.  It  was  modeled  on  the  English  drama,  and, 
as  the  German  stage  up  to  that  time  had  been  governed 
entirely  by  French  ideas,  it  was  a  sudden  and  violent 


LE88ING.  207 

innovation,  tlie  success  of  wliicli  was  not  assured  until 
ten  years  later,  wlien  Lessing  produced  "Minna  von 
Barnhelmy  The  Engiisli  authors  of  Queen  Anne's 
time — especially  Swift,  Steele,  Addison  and  Pope — had 
an  equal  share  with  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics  in 
determining  the  character  of  his  labors.  He  was  also  a 
careful  student  of  Shakespeare  and  of  Milton,  and  seems 
to  have  caught  from  them  something  of  the  compact 
strength  of  his  style. 

After  ten  years,  passed  partly  in  Wittenberg,  but 
mostly  in  Berlin,  Lessing  became  the  secretary  of  Gene- 
ral Tauenzien,  and  in  1760  followed  the  latter  to  Bres- 
lau,  where  he  remained  five  years.  During  this  time 
he  wrote  "3Tinna  von  Barnhelm  "  and  "Laocoon  "  (or  the 
Limits  of  Poetry  and  Painting),  which  was  published 
in  1766.  The  great  era  of  German  literature  commenced 
with  these  works.  The  "Laocoon  "  in  its  style,  in  its 
equal  subtlety  and  clearness,  in  its  breadth  of  intel- 
lectual vision,  was  a  work  the  like  of  which  had  not  been 
seen  before.  It  was  above  popularity,  because  it  ap- 
pealed only  to  the  finest  minds  ;  but  its  lessons  sank 
deeply  into  one  mind — that  of  the  young  Goethe,  then 
a  student  at  Leipzig — and  set  it  in  the  true  path. 

The  remainder  of  Lessing's  histor}^  is  soon  told.  He 
spent  two  more  years  in  Berlin,  living  from  hand  to 
mouth,  and  then  accepted  the  proposition  to  go  to  Ham- 
burg, and  assist  in  establishing  a  new  theatre.  The  ex- 
periment failed,  and  he  thereupon  made  another.     He 


208  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

took  a  jiartner,  and  commenced  the  printing  and  pub- 
lishing business  upon  an  entirely  new  plan  ;  but  as 
neither  he  nor  his  partner  had  any  practical  knowledge 
of  printing,  they  failed  wretchedly  in  a  year  or  two.  In 
1770,  Lessing,  aged  forty-one,  found  himself  penniless, 
deeply  in  debt,  his  library  of  six  thousand  volumes 
scattered  to  the  winds,  his  father  writing  to  him  for 
money,  and  his  sister  reproaching  him  with  being  a 
heartless  and  undutiful  son.  But  during  those  three 
years  in  Hamburg  he  had  written  his  "Dramaturgie,'" 
a  work  second  in  importance  only  to  his  "Laocoon" 

The  Duke  of  Brunswick  offered  him  the  post  of  libra- 
rian at  "Wolfenbiittel,  with  a  salary  of  six  hundred 
thalers  (about  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars !)  a  year, 
and  thenceforth  his  wandering  life  ceased.  He  visited 
Mannheim  and  Vienna,  and  accompanied  the  hereditary 
Duke  of  Brunswick  on  a  journey  to  Italy;  but  travel 
seems  to  have  left  little  impression  upon  his  mind.  In 
the  two  or  three  letters  from  Italy,  written  to  his  be- 
trothed wife,  there  is  nothing  about  either  the  country 
or  the  antique  sculpture,  concerning  which  he  had  pre- 
viously written  so  much.  He  married  in  1776,  lost  his 
wife  and  child  in  a  little  more  than  a  year,  and  then 
lived  as  before  entirely  for  literature.  The  two  short 
letters  which  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Eschenburg,  after 
the  death  of  his  child  and  wife,  are  w^onderful  ex- 
pressions of  the  strength  and  tenderness  of  the  man. 
I  know  not  where  to  find,  in  all  the  literature  of  the 


LESSIWa.  209 

world,  such  tragic  patlios  expressing  itself  in  tlie  com- 
monest words.  He  does  not  say  wliat  lie  feels,  but  we 
feel  it  all  the  more. 

On  the  3d  of  January,  1778,  he  writes : 

I  seize  tlae  moment  when  my  wife  lies  utterly  unconscions,  to 
thank  you  for  your  sympathy.  My  hajipiness  was  only  too  short. 
And  it  was  so  hard  to  lose  him,  this  son  of  mine  !  For  he  had  so 
much  understanding — so  much  understanding !  Do  not  think  that  the 
few  hours  of  my  fatherhood  have  made  me  a  very  ape  of  a  father  ! 
I  know  what  I  am  saying.  Was  it  not  understanding  that  he  came  so 
unwillingly  to  the  world  ? — that  he  so  soon  saw  its  unreason  ?  Was  it 
not  understanding  that  he  grasped  the  first  chance  of  leaving  it  again  ? 
To  be  sure,  the  little  fidget-head  takes  his  mother  with  him,  and  from 
me  ! — for  there  is  little  hope  that  I  may  keep  her.  I  thought  I 
might  be  even  as  fortunate  as  other  men  ;  but  it  has  turned  out  ill 
for  me. 

Just  one  week  afterward  he  wrote  to  Eschenburg : 
"  My  wife  is  dead ;  now  I  have  also  had  this  experi- 
ence. I  am  glad  that  no  other  experience  of  the  kind 
remains  for  me  to  endure — and  am  quite  easy."  His 
"Nathan  cler  Weise  " — the  only  one  of  his  works  which 
has  been  translated  and  published  in  this  country — 
appeared  in  1779,  and  in  1781  he  died,  at  the  age  of 
fifty-two. 

The  closing  years  of  his  life  were  embittered  by  a 
violent  theological  controversy,  and  the  enmity  which 
it  excited  against  him  was  no  doulit  a  cause  of  the  slight 
success  which  his  last  great  work,  "Nathan  the  Wise," 
attained.  He  had  not  even  the  consolation  of  knoAv- 
ing  that  the    seed   he   had  sown  Avas   vital,    and   had 


210  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

already  germinated.     It  was  a  sad  ending  of  a  singu- 
larly cheerful  and  courageous  life. 

In  tlie  biographies  of  authors,  we  do  not  always  find 
that  genius  rests  on  a  strong  basis  of  character.  There 
are  many  instances  where  we  approve  the  mind,  and 
condemn  the  man.  But  Lessing's  chief  intellectual 
quality  was  a  passion  for  truth,  so  earnest  and  un- 
swerving, that  we  cannot  help  expecting  to  find  it  mani- 
fested in  the  events  of  his  life;  and  we  shall  not  be 
disappointed.  Whatever  faults  may  have  been  his,  he 
was  always  candid,  honest,  honorable  and  unselfish. 
He  lived  at  a  time  when  a  very  little  tact  and  pliancy 
of  nature  might  have  greatly  advanced  his  fortunes — 
when  a  little  prudent  reticence,  now  and  then,  would 
have  saved  him  from  many  an  angry  denunciation. 
But  he  seems  never  to  hai^e  concerned  himself  with 
anything  beyond  his  immediate  needs.  "  All  that  a 
man  wants,  is  health,"  he  once  w^'ote  :  "  why  should  I 
trouble  myself  about  the  future  ?  What  would  be  j)ri- 
vation  to  many  is  a  sufficiency  to  me."  In  one  of  his 
earlier  poems,  he  says  :  "  Fame  never  sought  me,  and 
would  not,  in  any  case,  have  found  me.  I  have  never 
craved  riches,  for  why,  during  this  short  journey,  where 
so  little  is  needed,  should  one  hoard  it  up  for  thieves 
rather  than  himself  ?  In  a  little  while  I  shall  be  tram- 
pled under  the  feet  of  those  who  come  after.  Why 
need  they  know  upon  whom  they  tread  ?  I  alone  know 
who  I  am."     This  self-reliant  spirit,   without  vanity. 


LE88ING.  211 

only  asserting  itself  wlien  its  independence  must  be 
maintained,  is  very  rare  among  men.  Lessing  under- 
stood tlie  character  and  extent  of  his  own  power  so  well, 
even  as  a  young  man,  that  all  his  utterances  have  a 
stamp  of  certainty,  which  is  as  far  as  possible  from 
egotism. 

We  must  bear  in  mind  the  fact  that,  when  he  began 
to  write,  literature  was  not  much  else  than  a  collection 
of  lifeless  forms ;  that  government  still  clung  to  the 
ideas  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  that  religion  had,  for  tlie 
most  part,  degenerated  into  rigid  doctrine.  Lessing's 
position  was  that  of  a  rebel,  at  the  start.  It  was  impos- 
sible for  him  to  breathe  the  same  atmosphere  with  the 
dogmatists  of  his  day,  and  live.  His  first  volume  of 
poems,  chiefly  imitations  of  the  amorous  lyrics  of  the 
ancients,  gave  the  opportunity  for  an  attack  upon  his 
moral  character.  In  replying  to  his  father,  who  seems 
to  have  joined  in  the  denunciation,  he  says :  "  The 
cause  of  their  existence  is  really  nothing  more  tlian  my 
inclination  to  attempt  all  forms  of  poetry."  He  then 
adds  :  "  Am  I  so  very  wrong  in  selecting  for  my  youth- 
ful labor  something  whereon  very  few  of  my  country- 
men have  tried  their  skill?  And  would  it  not  be 
foolish  in  me  to  discontinue,  until  I  have  produced  a 
master-piece  ?  " 

Lessing's  critical  articles,  which  he  began  to  write 
during  his  first  residence  in  Berlin,  and  especially  liis 
"  Letters  on  Literature,"  soon  made  him  respected  and 


212  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

feared,  although  they  gained  him  few  friends  beyond  the 
circle  of  his  personal  associates.  Industry,  combined 
with  a  keen  intellectual  insight,  had  made  him  an  admi- 
rable practical  scholar,  and  few  men  ever  better  knew 
how  to  manage  their  resources.  His  style,  as  I  have 
said,  was  somewhat  colored  by  his  study  of  the  English 
language.  It  is  clear,  keen  and  bright,  never  uncertain 
or  obscure.  Like  the  sword  of  Saladin  it  cuts  its  way 
through  the  finest  web  of  speculation.  He  had  neither 
reverence  for  names,  nor  mercy  for  pretensions,  and  no 
mind  of  looser  texture  than  his  own  could  stand  before 
him.  I  know  of  no  critical  papers  in  any  literature,  at 
once  so  brilliant  and  so  destructive.  They  would  have 
had  a  more  immediate  and  a  wider  effect,  but  for  the 
fact  that  his  antagonists  represented  the  general  senti- 
ment of  the  time,  which  could  not  be  entirely  suppressed 
in  them.  Yet  his  principles  of  criticism  were  broader 
than  mere  defense  and  counter-attack.  To  Pastor  Lange, 
who  complains  of  his  "  tone  "  toward  him,  he  answers  : 
"  If  I  were  commissioned  as  a  Judge  in  Art,  this 
would  be  my  scale  of  tone  :  gentle  and  encouraging  for 
the  beginners  ;  admiring  with  doubt,  or  doubting  with 
admiration,  for  the  masters ;  positive  and  repellant 
for  the  botchers ;  scornful  for  the  swaggerers ;  and  as 
bitter  as  possible  for  the  intriguers.  The  Judge  in 
Art,  who  has  but  one  tone  for  all,  had  better  have 
none." 

Unfortunately,  he  had  few  opportunities  of  expressing 


LESSING.  213 

eitlier  admiration  or  encouragement.  He  never  failed 
to  recognize  the  merits  of  Moses  Mendelssohn,  Klop- 
stock,  Wieland  and  Herder  ;  but  they  were  authors  who 
stood  in  little  need  of  his  aid.  They  did  not  set  them- 
selves in  immediate  antagonism  to  the  fashion  of  the 
age.  Their  growth  out  of  it,  and  into  an  independent 
literary  activity,  was  more  gradual ;  consequently,  each 
of  them  acquired,  almost  at  the  start,  a  circle  of  ad- 
mirers and  followers.  But  Lessing  marched  straight 
forward,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  in- 
different what  prejudices  he  shocked,  or  upon  whom  he 
set  his  feet.  Having,  as  he  conceived,  the  great  minds 
of  Greece,  Eome  and  England  as  his  allies  in  the  Past, 
he  was  content  to  stand  alone  in  the  Present.  His 
criticism  was  positive  as  well  as  negative  :  he  not  only 
pointed  out  the  prevalent  deficiencies  in  taste  and  know- 
ledge, but  he  laid  down  the  law  which  he  felt  to  have 
been  violated,  and  substituted  the  true  for  the  false 
interpretation. 

I  do  not  think  that  Lessing's  biographers  have  fully 
recognized  the  extent  of  his  indebtedness  to  English 
authors.  It  has  been  remarked  that  his  epigramma- 
tic poems  read  like  stiff  translations  from  the  classics  : 
to  me  they  suggest  the  similar  performances  of  Swift 
and  Herrick.  The  three  plays  by  which  he  revolution- 
ized the  German  stage — "3Iiss  Sara  Sampson,"  "Minna 
von  Barnhelm"  and  "Emilia  Galotti," — were  constructed 
upon  English  models.  With  them  the  drama  of  ordinary 


214  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

life  was  introduced  into  Germany.  They  liave  kept 
tlieir  place  to  this  day,  and  are,  even  now,  more  fre- 
quently performed  than  the  plays  of  Goethe.  Although 
they  possess  little  poetic  merit,  they  are  so  admirably 
constructed,  with  so  much  regard  to  the  movement  of 
the  plot  and  its  cumulative  development,  that  they  have 
scarcely  been  surpassed  by  any  later  dramatic  author. 
Even  Goethe  declares  that  it  is  impossible  to  estimate 
their  influence  on  dramatic  literature. 

The  ''  Laocoon"  although  a  piece  of  positive  criticism, 
seems  to  have  been  negatively  inspired  by  an  English 
book  which  has  long  been  forgotten.  Joseph  Spense, 
whose  "  Anecdotes  "  of  Pope  and  others  still  survives, 
published  in  1747  a  work  entitled,  "  Polymetis," — a 
comparison  of  the  poetry  and  the  art  of  the  ancients,  in 
which  he  took  the  ground  that  they  illustrate  each  other 
— in  other  words,  that  they  represent  the  same  events. 
Lessing,  whose  interest  in  classic  art  had  been  greatly 
stimulated  by  the  labors  of  Winckelmann,  was  led  to 
examine  the  subject — to  contrast  ancient  art  with  an- 
cient literature,  and  ascertain  whether  indeed  they  were 
only  diflerent  modes  of  presenting  the  same  subject,  as 
Spense  asserted,  or  whether  each  had  its  own  separate 
and  peculiar  sphere  of  existence.  The  description  of 
the  fate  of  Laocoon  and  his  sous,  in  A^irgil,  and  the 
famous  group  of  sculpture,  mentioned  by  Pliny  (now 
in  the  museum  of  the  Vatican,  at  Eome),  furnished  him 
with  a  text,  and  gave  the  title  to  his  work  ;  but  from 


LESSING.  215 

this  starting-point  lie  rises  to  tlie  investigation  of  the 
nature  of  Poetry  and  Art,  as  methods  of  expression,  and 
the  laws  which  govern  them.  Where  Gottsched  and  his 
school  furnished  patterns  of  versification,  by  which  men 
should  be  able  to  write  mechanical  poetry,  Lessing  re- 
vealed the  intellectual  law,  without  which  all  verse  is 
but  a  lifeless  jingle,  dreary  to  the  ears  of  men,  and  pro- 
hibited by  the  gods. 

The  opening  sentences  of  the  "Laocoon "  will  give 
you  some  idea  of  the  clearness  and  precision  of  the 
author's  mind.     He  begins  thus  : 

The  first  person  who  compared  Poetry  and  Painting  with  each 
other,  was  a  man  of  sensitive  perception,  who  felt  that  both  arts  af- 
fected him  in  a  similar  manner.  Both,  he  perceived,  represent  absent 
objects  as  present,  substitute  the  appearance  for  the  reality  ;  both  are 
illusive,  yet  their  illusions  give  pleasure. 

A  second  man  endeavored  to  penetrate  to  the  source  and  secret  of 
this  pleasure,  and  discovered  that  in  both  cases  it  flows  from  the 
same  fountain.  Beauty,  the  conception  of  which  we  first  derive  from 
material  objects,  has  its  universal  laws,  which  apply  to  many  things  — 
to  action  and  thought,  as  well  as  to  form. 

A  third  man,  reflecting  upon  the  value  and  the  application  of 
these  eternal  laws,  perceived  that  certain  of  them  are  predominant  in 
painting,  certain  others  in  poetry  ;  and  that,  therefore,  through  the 
latter.  Poetry  may  come  to  the  illustration  of  Painting  ;  through  the 
former  Painting  may  illustrate  Poetry,  by  means  of  elucidation  and 
example. 

The  first  of  these  men  was  the  lover ;  the  second,  the  philoso- 
pher ;  the  third,  the  critic. 

Lessing  then  proceeds  to  show  that  a  mere  copy  of 
a  natural  object,  no  matter  how  admirably  made,  does 
not  constitute  painting,  and  that  mere  description  does 


216  GEE3IAN  LITERATURE. 

not  constitute  poetry.  In  botli  cases  tlie  higher  ele- 
ment of  beauty  is  necessary,  and  this  element  can  only 
exist  under  certain  conditions.  For  instance,  Poetry 
may  express  continuous  action,  but  Art  can  only  exj)ress 
suspended  action.  Poetry  may  represent  the  successive 
phases  of  passion,  Art  only  a  single  phase  at  a  time. 
The  agents  of  form  and  color  assist  the  representation, 
in  one  case  ;  the  agency  of  sound  in  the  other. 

I  can  best  give  Lessing's  definition  of  the  two  arts — 
which  is  at  the  same  time  a  distinction  between  them — 
in  his  own  words.     He  says  : 

Objects,  wticli  either  in  themselves  or  their  parts,  exist  in  com- 
bination, are  called  bodies.  Therefore  bodies,  with  their  visible  char- 
acteristics, are  the  proper  subjects  of  painting. 

Objects,  which  succeed  each  other,  or  the  parts  of  which  succeed 
each  other,  are  called  actions.  Therefore  actions  are  the  legitimate 
subject  of  poetry. 

All  bodies,  however,  do  not  exist  simply  in  space,  but  also  in 
time.  They  have  a  continuance,  and  each  moment  of  their  duration 
they  may  appear  differently  and  in  different  combinations.  Each  of 
these  momentary  appearances  and  combinations,  is  the  effect  of  a  pre- 
ceding and  may  be  the  cause  of  a  succeeding  one,  and  thus  the  central 
point  of  an  action.  Painting  may  therefore  imitate  actions,  but  only 
by  suggesting  them  through  bodies. 

On  the  other  hand,  actions  cannot  exist  of  themselves,  but  are 
obliged  to  depend  upon  certain  existences.  In  so  far  as  these  exist- 
ences are  bodies,  or  must  be  so  considered,  poetry  may  represent 
bodies,  but  only  by  sixggesting  them  through  actions. 

I  must  admit  that  this  careful  and  delicate  dissection 
of  the  principles  of  Art  and  Literature,  has  a  greater 
charm  for  the  German  than  for  the  English  mind.  But 
without  considering  Lessing's  critical  genius,  we  can- 


LE8SING.  217 

not  properly  appreciate  liis  j^ower  and  value.  He  was 
forced  into  this  field  of  activity,  and  his  capacities  were 
sharpened  by  constant  exercise,  yet  it  was  his  true 
work  after  all.  The  critical  and  the  creative  faculties 
never  entirely  harmonize  in  the  same  brain.  The  critic 
detects,  by  observation  and  analysis,  what  the  creative 
genius  possesses  by  a  special,  splendid  instinct.  It  is 
therefore  possible  for  an  author,  commencing  an  im- 
portant work,  to  know  beforehand  too  locll  how  it  should 
be  done.  His  intellectual  insight  may  be  so  clear,  so 
sure  and  so  finely  exercised,  that  nothing  is  left  for  the 
imagination.  Instead  of  following  his  feeling,  knowing 
that  many  a  bright  surprise,  many  an  unexpected  illu- 
mination of  thought  will  come  to  help  him  on  the  way, 
he  is  chilled  by  the  critical  faculty,  which  constantly 
looks  over  his  shoulder  and  meddles  with  his  freedom. 
The  evidence  of  this  is  nowhere  more  apparent  than  in 
Lessing's  poems  and  plays.  With  all  their  excellent 
qualities,  they  are  almost  wanting  in  that  warm,  imagi- 
native element  which  welds  thought  and  passion  and 
speech  into  one  inseparable  body.  It  is  remarkable 
that  his  style,  which  is  so  sustained,  so  dignified  and 
flexible  in  his  critical  papers,  should  seem  slightly  hard 
and  mechanical  in  his  verse.  His  most  ambitious  work, 
"Nathan  the  Wise,"  has  passages  where  the  blank 
verse  is  strong  and  rhythmical,  but  it  has  also  passages 
the  effect  of  which  is  not  different  from  that  of  prose. 
The  one  thing,  which  we  can  all  feel  better  than  de- 
10 


218  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

scribe,  was  wanting,  to  make  liim  a  truly  great  creative 
author ;  but  bad  be  possessed  it,  be  woukl  probably 
liave  done  less  service  to  the  world.  Just  tbe  man 
tbat  be  was,  was  demanded  by  tbe  age  in  wbicb  be 
lived. 

It  appears  from  bis  correspondence  and  tbe  testimony 
of  bis  friends,  tbat  be  wrote  a  drama  entitled  "Faust" 
tbe  manuscript  of  wbicb  was  lost  by  tbe  publisher  to 
wbom  it  was  sent.  He  never  attempted  to  rewrite  it. 
From  tbe  small  fragment  wbicb  remains,  and  some  ac- 
count of  tbe  design  of  tbe  wbole  wbicb  bas  been  pre- 
served, tbis  work  was  undoubtedly  more  poetic  and 
imaginative  tban  any  of  bis  otber  dramatic  poems.  It 
coincided  witb  Goetbe's  great  work  only  in  one  par- 
ticular— tbat  tbe  soul  of  Faust  is  not  lost,  and  Mepbis- 
topbeles  loses  bis  wager.  His  mind  was  not  only  fruit- 
ful, but  very  rapid  in  its  operation,  and  only  tbe 
smallest  portion  of  bis  literary  plans  was  carried  into 
effect. 

One  of  tbe  severest  experiences  wbicb  Lessing  was 
compelled  to  undergo  bad  but  an  indirect  connection 
witb  literature.  He  was  severely  attacked  by  Pastor 
Goeze,  of  Hamburg,  for  various  assertions  of  opinion, 
wbicb  tbe  latter  declared  to  be  uncbristian,  and  tbe 
quarrel  wbicb  followed  lasted  during  tbe  wbole  of  tbe 
year  1778.  It  was  carried  on  by  printed  pamphlets,  of 
which  Lessing  wrote  fifteen  or  sixteen.  The  ground 
wbicb  Lessing  assumed  would  hardly  excite  any  particu- 


LES8IN0.  219 

lar  comment  in  tliese  days.  He  declared,  for  instance, 
that  tlie  spirit  is  more  than  the  letter ;  that  the  truth  of 
the  Gospels  is  inherent  in  them,  and  not  to  be  demon- 
strated by  external  proof ;  and  that  the  religion  of  Christ 
would  have  been  saved  to  the  world,  even  if  the  Gospels 
had  not  been  written.  It  is  difficult  for  us  to  com- 
prehend, now,  the  violence  and  bitterness  with  which 
Lessing  was  assailed.  Efforts  were  made  to  deprive 
him  of  his  situation  as  librarian ;  the  Government 
Censor  interfered  with  his  replies,  and  his  life,  already 
so  lonely  and  cheerless,  was  made  almost  a  burden.  He 
never  flinched,  never  uttered  a  comj)laint,  never,  in  any 
way,  compromised  his  dignity  or  his  manly  indepen- 
dence; but  he  seems  to  have  lost  something  of  the  hope 
and  confidence  of  his  early  days.  He  must  have  grown 
somewhat  weary  and  discouraged.  No  man  stepped 
forward  to  stand  by  his  side,  and  help  him  fight  the 
battle,  and  the  thousands  of  eager  intelligences,  for 
whom  he  really  spoke  and  suffered,  were  silently  wait- 
ing the  result.  In  fact,  the  end  of  the  conflict  came 
when  Lessing,  after  having  forced  Pastor  Goeze  to  ad- 
mit that  the  authorities  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church, 
during  the  first  four  centuries  of  Christianity,  would 
be  sufficient,  substantiated  everything  he  had  asserted 
by  quoting  the  opinions  of  the  Fathers.  In  scho- 
larship, no  theologian  of  his  day  came  near  him.  His 
influence,  as  a  religious  reformer,  has  been  immense, 
but  is  hardly  yet   recognized  by  the  world.      In  this 


220  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

sense,  lie  was  no  less  a  martyr  tlian  Arnold  of  Brescia 
and  Savonarola. 

When  his  "  Nathan  the  Wise "  was  completed,  he 
issued  a  prospectus,  announcing  that  it  would  be  pub- 
lished by  subscription.  His  object  probably  was  to 
secure  a  little  more  from  the  publication  than  he  could 
expect  from  a  bookseller.  His  father  had  died  in  debt, 
and  the  calls  for  assistance  from  his  elder  sister  were 
both  sharp  and  frequent.  It  is  rather  melancholy  to 
read  his  appeal  to  his  friends,  informing  them  that  the 
price  of  the  work  will  be  one  groschen  (two  and  a  half 
cents)  for  each  printed  sheet,  and  that  they  may  deduct 
a  commission  of  fifteen  per  cent,  for  their  services  in  pro- 
curing subscriptions!  As  the  edition  did  not  exceed 
two  thousand  copies,  the  author's  profits  must  have  been 
very  moderate.  In  his  correspondence,  Lessing  speaks 
of  the  work  having  been  finished  three  years  previously, 
and  then  laid  aside.  He  declares  his  weariness  of  the 
theological  controversy,  and  speaks  of  the  play  as  "  an 
attack  in  flank,"  as  its  leading  idea  is  religious  toler- 
ance. The  three  principal  characters — ^Nathan,  Saladin 
and  the  Knight  Templar — represent  Judaism,  Islam 
and  Christianity  ;  and  the  lesson  to  be  deduced  from 
the  plot,  is  simply  that  the  test  of  the  true  religion  lies 
in  deeds  and  works,  and  not  in  the  mere  profession. 
The  finest  passage  in  the  work  is  the  story  of  the  rings, 
which  is  that  of  the  Jew  Melchisedech,  as  told  by 
Boccaccio,  in  the  third  tale  of  the  Decameron.     As  a 


LESSmG. 


221 


specimen  of  Lessing's  best  poetical  style,  and  a  j)arable 
through  which  he  expressed  his  own  tolerance,  I  will 
quote  it : 


Nath. — Vor  grauen  Jaliren  lebt' 

ein  Mann  in  Osten, 
Der  einen  Ring  von  unschiltzba- 

rem  Werth 
Aus   lieber  Hand    besass.      Der 

Stein  war  ein 
Opal,  der  hundert  schone  Farben 

spielte, 
Und  hatte  die  geheime  Kraft,  vor 

Gott 
Und    Menschen    angenebm    zu 

maclien,  wer 
In   dieser  Zuversicbt  ibn  trug. 

Was  VVunder 
Dass  ibn  der  Mann  in  Osten  da- 
rum  nie 
Vom  P'tnger  liess  ;  und  die  Ver- 

fijgung  traf, 
Auf  ewig  ibn  bey  seinem  Hause 

zu 
Erbalten.  Nebmlicb  so.  Er  licss 

den  Ring 
Von  seinen  Sobnen  dem  Gelieb- 

testen  ; 
Und  setzte  fest,  dass  diesser  -vvie- 

derum 
Den  Ring  von  seinen  Sobnen  dem 

vermacbe, 
Der   ibm  der  liebste  sey  ;    und 

stets  der  Liebste, 
Obn'  Anschn  der  Gcburt,  in  Kraft 

allein 
Des  Rings,  das  Haupt,  der  Fiirst 

des  Ilauses  werde. — 
Verstcb'micb,  Sultan.  Sal. — Icb 

versteb  dicb.     Welter  ! 


Natlian. — In  gray  antiquity  tbere 

lived  a  man 
In  Eastern  lands,   wbo  bad  re- 
ceived a  ring 
Of  priceless  wortb   from  a  be- 
loved band. 
Its  stone,  an  opal,  flasbed  a  buu- 

dred  colors, 
And   had   tbe  secret   power   of 

giving  favor 
In  sight  of  God  and  man,  to  iiim 

wbo  wore  it 
With  a  believing  heart.     \\'hat 

wonder  then 
This  Eastern  man  would  never 

put  the  ring 
From  off  bis  finger,  and  should 

so  provide 
That  to  his  house  it  be  preserved 

for  ever. 
Such  was  the  case.      Unto  the 

best-beloved 
Among  his  sons  he  left  the  ring, 

enjoining 
That  he  in  turn  bequeath  it  to 

tbe  son 
Who  should  be  dearest ;  and  tlie 

dearest  ever, 
In  virtue  of  the  ring,   without 

regard 
To  birth,   be  of  the  house  the 

prince  and  head. 
You  understand  me.  Sultan  ? 


^Sa^.-Yes; 


go  on  ! 


222 


OEIUIAN  LITER AIURE. 


JVatJi.So  kam  nun  dicserRing, 

von  Sohn  zu  Sohn, 
Auf    eineu    Vater    endlicli    von 

drey  Solinen  ; 
Die  alle  drey  ihm  glcicli  gehor- 

sam  waren, 
Die  alle  drey  er  folglicli  glcicli 

zu  lieben 
Sich   niclit    entbreclien   konnte. 

Nur  von  Zeit 
Zu  Zeit  scliien  ilim  bald  der,  bald 

dieser,  bald 
Der  Dritte,  —  so  wie  jeder  sicli 

mit  ihm 
Allein  befand,   und   sein  ergie- 

ssend  Herz 
Die  andern  zwey  niclit  tbeilten, — 

wllrdiger 
Des  Einges,   den  er    denn   aucli 

einem  jeden 
Die  fromme  Scbwacblieit  liatte, 

zu  versprechen. 
Das  ging  nun  so,  so  lang  es  ging. 

— Allein 
Es  kam  zum  Sterben,  und  der 

gute  Vater 
Kommt     in    Verlegenlieit.       Es 

sclimerzt  ihn,  zwey 
Von  seinen  Solinen,  die  sich  auf 

sein  Wort 
Verlassen,  so  zu  krJinkeu, — Was 

zu  thun  ? — 
Er  sendet  in  geheim  zu   einem 

Kiinstler, 
Bey  dem  er,  nach  dem  Muster 

seines  Einges, 
Zwey  andere  bestellt,  und  weder 

Kosten, 
Noch    Miihe  sparen  heisst,  sie 

jenem  gleich. 


Nathan. — From  son  to  son  the 

ring  descending,  came 
To  one,    the   sire   of  three  ;    of 

whom  all  three 
Were  equally  obedient ;   whom 

all  three 
He  therefore  must  with   equal 

love  regard. 
And  yet  from  time  to  time  now 

this,  now  that. 
And   now   the    third, — as    each 

alone  was  by. 
The  others  not  dividing  his  fond 

heart, — 
Appeared  to  him  the  worthiest 

of  the  ring  ; 
Which  then,  with  loving  weak- 
ness, he  would  promise 
To  each  in  turn.     Thus  it  con- 
tinued long. 
But  he  must  die  ;  and  then  the 

loving  father 
Was  sore  perplexed.     It  grieved 

him  thus  to  wound 
Two  faithful  sons  who  trusted 

in  his  word  ; 
But  what  to  do  ?    In  secrecy  he 

calls 
An  artist  to  him,  and  commands 

of  him 
Two  other  rings,  the  pattern  of 

his  own  ; 
And  bids  him  neither  cost  nor 

pains  to  spare 


LESSIWG. 


223 


Vollkommen  gleicb  zu  maclien. 

Das  gelingt 
Dem  Kiiustler.     Da  er  ihm  die 

Ringe  bringt, 
Kann   selbst   der    Vater  seiuen 

Musterring 
Nicht  uutersclieiden.     Froli  und 

freudig  ruft 
Er  seine  Sohne,  jedeninsbesou- 

dre  ; 
Giebt  jedem  ins  besondre  seinen 

Seegen, — 
Und  seineD  Ring,  —  und  stirbt. — 

Du  liorst  doch.  Sultan  ? 
Sal. — Ich  hor',  icli  licire  !  Komm 

mit  deinem  Mahrchen 
Nun  bald  zu  Ends.  —  Wird's  ? 

Nath. — Icli  bin  zuEnde. 
Denn  was   noch  folgt,  versteht 

sicli  ja  von  selbst. — 
Kaum   war  der  Vater   todt,    so 

kommt  ein  jeder 
Mit   seinem    Ring. — Und  jeder 

will  der  Fiii'St 
Des  Hauses  seyn.     Man  unter- 

suclit,  man  zaukt, 
Man  klagt.   Umsonst,  der  reclite 

Ring  war  nicht 
Erweislich  ; — \nach  einer  Pause, 

in    welcher    er  des    Sultans 

AntKort  enmrttt]    fast    so 

uncrweislich,  als 
Uns    jtzt— der    reclite    Glaube. 

Sal. — Wie?  das  soil 
Die    Autwort  seyn    auf    meine 

Frage?    Wath.— Soil 
Micli  bios  entschuldigen,  wenn 

ich  die  Ringe 
Mir  nicht  getrau  zu  unterschei- 

den,  die 


To  make   them   like,   precisely 

like  to  that. 
The  artist's  skill  succeeds.     He 

brings  the  rings. 
And  e'en  the  father  cannot  tell 

his  own. 
Relieved   and  joyful,  summons 

he  his  sons, 
Each  by  himself  ;  to  each  one 

by  himself 
He  gives  his  blessing,  and  his 

ring — and  dies. — 
You  listen.  Sultan  ? 

Sal.— Yes  ; 

I  hear,  I  hear. 
But  bring  your  story  to  an  end. 

Ifath.—'Tis  ended. 
For  what  remains  would  tell  it- 
self.    The  father 
Was   scarcely  dead  when  each 

brings  forth  his  ring, 
And      claims      the      headship. 

Questioning  ensues. 
Strife,   and  appeal  to  law  ;  but 

all  in  vain. 
The  genuine  ring  was  not  to  be 

distinguished  ; — 

[After    a  pause,    in    icMch    he 
atcaits  the  Sultan's  a7istcer.'\ 

As    undistinguishable    as    with 

us 
The   true  religion.     Sal. — That 

your  answer  to  me  ? 
JVath. — But  my  apology  for  not 

presuming 
Between    the    rings    to    judge, 

which  with  design 


224 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Der  Vater  in   der  Absiclit  ma- 

chen  liess, 
Damit  sie   niclit   zu  unterscliei- 

den  wiireri. 
Sal. — Die  Ringe  ! — Spiele  nicht 

mit  mir  !— Ich  dachte, 
Dass  die  Religionen,  die  ich  dir 

Geuannt,    docli    wol  zu  unter- 

scheiden  waren. 
Bis  auf  die  Kleidung  ;    bis  auf 

Speis  und  Trank  ! 
Nath. — Und     nur     von     Seiten 

ilarer  Griinde  niclit, — 
Denn  griinden   alle   sich    niclit 

auf  Gescliichte  ? 
Geschrieben  oder  iiberliefert  ! — 

Und 
Gescbichte  muss  docb  wolil  al- 

lein  auf  Treu 
Und  Glauben  angenoninien  wer- 

den?— Nicht? 
Nun,  wessen  Treu  und  Glauben 

zieht  man  denn 
Am  wenigsten  in  Zweifel  ?  Doch 

der  Seinen  ? 
Doch  deren  Blut  wir  siud  ?  doch 

deren,  die 
Von    Kindheit   an    uns   Proben 

ilirer  Liebe 
Gegeben  ?  die  uns  nie  getauscht, 

als  wo 
Getauscht  zu  werden  uns  heil- 

samer  war  ? — 
Wie  kann    ich   meinen   Viitern 

weniger, 
Als    du    den    deinen   glauben  ? 

Oder  umgekehrt. — 
Kann  ich  von  dir  veiiangen,  dass 

du  deine 


The    father    ordered    undistin- 
guishable. 


Sal.—Uhe  rings  ?  —  You  trifle 
with  me.     Tlie  religions 

I  named  to  you  are  plain  to  be 
distinguished — 

E'en  in  the  dress,  e'en  in  the 
food  and  drink. 


Nath. — In  all  except  the 
grounds  on  which  they  rest. 

Are  they  not  founded  all  on 
history. 

Traditional  or  written  ?   History 

Can  be  accepted  only  upon  trust. 

Whom  now  are  we  the  least  in- 
clined to  doubt  ? 
Not  our  own   people — our  own 

blood  ;  not  those 
Who    from    our    childhood   up 

have  proved  their  love  ; 
Ne'er  disappointed,  save  when 

disappointment 
Was   wholesome  to  us  ?     Shall 

my  ancestors 
Receive  less  faith  from  me,  than 

yours  from  you  ? 
Reverse  it :    Can  I  ask  you  to 

belie 


LESSING. 


225 


Vorfahren     Liigen    strafst,    um 

meinen  niclit 
Zu   widersprechen  ?      Oder  um- 

gekelirt. 
Das    nelimliclie    gilt    von    den 

Christen.     Nicht  ?— 
Sal. — (Bey  dem  Lebendigen!  Der 

Mann  tat  Recht. 
Ich  muss  verstummen. )    Kath.  — 

Lass  auf  unsre  Ring' 
Uns  wieder  kommen.     Wie  ge- 

sagt :  die  Soline 
Verklagten     sicli ;     und     jeder 

schwur  dem  Rictter, 
Unmittelbar    aus    seines  Vaters 

Hand 
Den  Ring  zu  liaben. — Wie  aucb 

wahr ! — Naclidem 
Er  von  ibm  lange  das  Verspre- 

clien  sclion 
Gehabt,  des  Riuges  Vorrecht  ein- 

mal  zu 
Geniessen. — Wie    nicht   minder 

wahr  ! — Der  Vater, 
Betheur'te  jeder,   kcinne    gegen 

ihn 
Nicht  falsch  gewesen  seyn  ;  und 

eh'  er  dieses 
Von  ihm,  von  einem  solchen  lie- 
ben  Vater, 
Argwohnen  lass'  :    eh'  mliss'   er 

seine  Briider, 
So  gern  er  sonst  von  ihnen  nur 

das  Beste 
Bereit  zii  glauben  sey,  des  fal- 

schen  Spiels 
Bezeihen  ;  und  er  wolle  die  Ver- 

riither 
Schon  auszufinden  wissen  ;  sich 

schon  riiclieu. 

10* 


Tour  fathers,  and  transfer  your 

faith  to  mine  ? 
Or  yet,  again,  holds  not  the  same 

with  Christians  ? 


Sal. — (By  heaven,  the  man  is 
right  !  I've  naught  to  an- 
swer.) 

Natli. — Return  we  to  our  rings. 

As  I  have  said. 
The  sons  appealed  to  law,  and 

each  took  oath 
Before  the  judge  that  from  his 

father's  hand 
He  had  the  ring, — as  was  indeed 

the  truth  ; 
And  had  received  his   promise 

long  before, 
One   day  the  ring,  with  all  its 

privileges. 
Should  be  his  own, — as  was  not 

less  the  truth. 
The  father  could  not  have  been 

false  to  him, 
Each  one  maintained  ;  and    ra- 
ther than  allow 
Upon  the  memory  of  so  dear  a 

father 
Such  stain    to    rest,    he    must 

against  his  brothers, 
Though  gladly  he  would  nothing 

but  the  best 
Believe  of  them,  bring  charge  of 

treachery  ; 
Means  would  he  find  the  traitors 

to  expose, 
And    be     revenged      on    them. 

Sal. — And  now  the  judge? 


226 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Sal. — Und  nun,  der  Riclitcr? — 

Mich  verlangt  zu  liciren, 
Was  du  den  Ricliter  sagen  liis- 

sest.      Sprich ! 
Nath. — Der  Ricliter  sprach:  wenn 

ihr  mir  nun  den  Vater 
Nicht  bald  zur  Stelle  schafft,  so 

weis'  icli  eucli 
Von  meinem  Stuhle.    Denkt  ihr, 

dass  ich  Riithsel 
Zu  losen  da  bin  ?  Oder  harret  ihr. 

Bis   dass    der  rechte   Ring  den 

Mund  erciffne  1 — 
Doch   halt  !       Ich   hore  ja,    dor 

rechte  Ring 
Besitzt     die    Wunderkraft,    be- 

liebt  zu  machen  ; 
Vor   Qott  und   Menschen  ange- 

nehm.     Das  muss 
Entscheiden  !  Denn  die  falschen 

Ringe  werden 
Doch  das  nicht  kdnnen  ! — Nun, 

wen  lieben  zwey 
Von  euch  am  moisten  ? — Macht, 

sagt  an  !     Ihr  schweigt  ? 
Die  Ringe  wirken  nur  zurlick  ? 

und  nicht 
Nach  aussen?     Jeder  liebt  sich 

selber  nur 
Am  meisten  ? — 0  so  seyd  ihr  alle 

drey 
Betrogene  Betriiger!  Eure  Ringe. 
Sind  alle  drey  nicht  echt.     Der 

echte  Ring 
Vermuthlich  ging  verloren.  Den 

Verlust 
Zu  bergen,  zu  ersetzen,  liees  der 

Vater 
Die  drey  fiir  einen  machen. 


I  long  to  hear  what  words  you 

give  the  judge. 
Go  on  ! 

Nath. — Thus  spoke  the  judge  : 
Produce  your  father 

At  once  before  me,  else  from  my 
tribunal 

Do  I  dismiss  you.  Think  you  I 
am  here 

To  guess  your  riddles  ?  Either 
would  you  wait 

Until  the  genuine  ring  shall 
speak  ?— But  hold  ! 

A  magic  power  in  the  true  ring 
resides, 

As  I  am  told,  to  make  its  wearer 
loved, — 

Pleasing  to  God  and  man.  Let 
that  decide. 

For  in  the  false  can  no  such  vir- 
tue lie. 

Which  one  among  you,  then,  do 
two  love  best  ? 

Speak  I  Are  you  silent  ?  Work 
the  rings  but  backward. 

Not  outward  ?  Loves  each  one 
himself  the  best  ? 

Then  cheated  cheats  are  all  of 
you  !     The  rings 

All  three  are  false.  The  genu- 
ine ring  was  lost  ; 

And  to  conceal,  supply  the  loss, 
the  father 

Made  three  in  place  of  one. 


LE88ING. 


227 


Sal. — Herrlicli,  lierrlicli  ! 
NatJi. — Und  also,  f iilir  der  Ricli- 

ter  fort,  wenn  ihr 
Nicht  meinen  Ratli,  statt  meines 

Spruches  woUt  : 
Geht  nur  ! — Mein  Ratli  ist  aber 

der :  ihr  nehmt 
Die  Sache  vollig  wie  sie  liegt. 

Hat  von 
Eucli  jeder  seinen  Ring  von  sei- 

uem  Vater 
So  glaube    jeder   siclier   seinen 

Ring 
Den  ecliten. — Mciglich,  dass  der 

Vater  nun 
Die  Tyranney  des   Einen  Rings 

nicht 1 anger 
In  seinem  Hause  dulden  wollen! 

— Und  gewiss  ; 
Dass  er  euch  alle  drey  geliebt, 

und  gleich 
Geliebt :    indem  er   zwey  nicht 

driicken  mcigen, 
Um    einen     zu   begiinstigen. — 

Wohlan  !* 
Es  eifre  jeder  seiner  unbestocli- 

nen, 
Von  Vorurtbeilcn  freyen  Liebe 

nacb  ! 
Es  strebe  von  eucb  jeder  um  die 

Wette, 
Die  Kraft  des  Steins  in  seinem 

Ring  'an  Tag 
Zu  legen  !   komme  dicscr   Kraft 

mit  Sanftmuth, 
Mit    lierzliclier  Vertriiglicbkeit, 

mit  Wohlthun, 
Mit    innigstcr    Ergebenlieit    in 

Gott, 


Sal. — Oh,  excellent! 
Nath. — Go,  therefore,  said  the 

judge,  unless  my  counsel 
You'd  have  in  place  of  sentence. 

It  were  this  : 
Accept  the   case   exactly  as   it 

standy. 
Had  each  his  ring  directly  from 

his  father, 
Let  each  believe  his  own  is  gen- 
uine. 
'Tis  possible,  your  father  would 

no  longer 
His  house  to  one  ring's  tyranny 

subject ; 
And  certain  that  all  three  of  you 

he  loved, 
Loved    equally,    since    two    he 

would  not  humble. 
That  one  might  be  exalted.    Let 

each  one 
To  his  unbought,  impartial  love 

aspire  ; 
Each  with  the  others  vie  to  bring 

to  light 
The  virtue  of  the  stone  within 

his  ring ; 
Let  gentleness,  a  hearty  love  of 

peace. 
Beneficence,  and  perfect  trust  in 

God, 


228  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Zu  Hiilf  1    Und  wenn  sicli  dann  Come  to  liis  help.     Then  if  the 

der  Steine  Kriifte  jewel's  power 

Bey    euero    Kindes  -  Kindeskin-  Among  your  children's  children 

dern  aiissern  :  be  revealed, 

So  lad'  ich  iiber  tausend  tausend  I  bid  you  in  a  thousand,  thousand 

Jahre,  years, 

Sie  wiederum  vor  diesen  Stuhl.  Again  before  this  bar.     A  wiser 

Da  wird  man 

Ein  weisrer    Mann  auf  diesem  Than  I  shall  occupy  this    seat, 

Stuhle  sitzen,  and  speak, 

Als  ich ;  undsprechen.    Geht ! —  Go  !— Thus   the    modest    judge 

So  sagte  der  dismissed  them! 
Bescheidne  Richter. 

Ellen  Frothingham. 

"  Nathan  tlie  Wise  "  was  not  immediately  popular : 
too  many  hostile  elements  were  combined  against  its 
author.  The  sectarian  spirit  of  Germany  was  deter- 
mined, in  advance,  not  to  accej)t  it ;  and  the  crowd  of 
pretentious  scholars  and  second-rate  authors,  who  had 
felt  the  sting  of  Lessing's  criticism,  took  every  oppor- 
tunity of  revenge.  He  was  accused  of  glorifying  Juda- 
ism, in  the  person  of  Nathan,  at  the  expense  of  Chris- 
tianity, and  the  slander  was  everywhere  circulated  and 
believed,  that  the  Jews  of  Amsterdam  had  sent  him  a 
gift  of  a  thousand  ducats.  He  outlived  the  violence  of 
the  assault,  but  with  failing  health  came  a  weariness  of 
the  struggle  ;  and  his  last  work,  "  The  Education  of  the 
Human  Eace,"  shows  traces  of  a  desire  to  avoid  any  fur- 
ther controversy.  "What  general  popularity  he  enjoyed 
during  his  life  came  from  his  three  earlier  dramas ;  but 
the  recognition  of  the  best  minds — the  only  fame  which 
a  poet  values — was   due   to   his  "  Laocoon."     His  life 


LESsmo.  229 

was  not  without  its  compensations.  The  hot  water  in 
which  he  lived  was  much  preferable  to  the  stagnant 
water  in  which  his  literary  predecessors  had  slowly  de- 
cayed. There  was  day-break  in  the  sky  before  he  died, 
and  he,  who  anticipated  so  many  of  the  currents  of 
thought  of  the  present  day,  certainly  had  clearness  of 
vision  to  see  the  coming  change.  He  was  like  the  leader 
of  a  forlorn  hope,  who  falls  at  the  moment  when  victory 
is  secured. 

The  strongest  quality  of  Lessing's  mind  was  his  pas- 
sion for  positive  truth.  The  j)assage  in  which  he  sub- 
limely expresses  this  aspiration  has  been  often  quoted, 
but  I  must  give  it  again  :  "  Not  the  truth  of  which  any 
one  is,  or  supjioses  himself  to  be,  possessed,  but  the 
upright  endeavor  he  has  made  to  arrive  at  truth,  makes 
the  worth  of  the  man.  For  not  by  the  possession,  but 
by  the  investigation  of  truth  are  his  powers  expanded, 
and  therein  alone  consists  his  ever-growing  perfection. 
If  God  held  all  truth  shut  in  his  right  hand,  and  in  his 
left  hand  nothing  but  the  ever-restless  instinct  for 
truth,  though  with  the  condition  of  forever  and  ever 
erring,  and  should  say  to  me,  *  Choose  ! '  I  should 
humbly  bow  to  his  left  hand,  and  say :  *  Fatlier,  give  ! 
Pure  truth  is  for  thee  alone  !  '  " 

The  period  between  1729  and  1781,  which  Lessing's 
life  covers,  was  that  of  transition — and  a  transition  all 
the  more  difficult  and  convulsive  because,  for  a  hundred 
years  previous,  the  intellectual  life  of  Germany  lay  in 


230  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

a  trance  resembling  deatli.  Altliough.  tlie  influence  of 
Bousseau  and  Yoltaire,  felt  in  Germany  only  less  j^ow- 
erfully  than  in  France,  helped  to  break  up  the  old  order 
of  things,  there  was  not  the  least  connection  between 
their  action  and  that  of  Lessing.  He  made  Voltaire's 
acquaintance  only  to  become  involved  in  a  personal 
quarrel  with  him,  and  his  works  show  no  trace  of  Rous- 
seau's ideas  concerning  education  and  society.  He 
moved  forward  on  a  line  parallel  with  other  prominent 
minds  in  other  countries,  but  always  retained  a  com- 
plete independence  of  them.  When  he  died,  the  period 
of  struggle  was  really  over,  although  the  fact  was  not 
yet  manifest.  Goethe  had  published  "Gotz  von  Ber- 
licJmigen"  and  "  Werther"  and  Schiller  had  just  writ- 
ten "Die  Railber."  Herder  had  given  to  the  world 
his  "  Poetry  of  the  People,"  and  was  employed  upon 
his  "  Spirit  of  Hebrew  Poetry  ;  "  and  Bichter,  a  student 
of  nineteen,  had  just  awakened  to  a  knowledge  of  his 
own  genius.  One  by  one,  the  pedants  and  the  mechan- 
ical organ-grinders  of  literature  were  passing  off  the 
stage.  French  taste  died  two  years  later,  in  the  person 
of  its  last  representative,  Frederic  the  Great,  and  the 
close  air  of  Germany  was  at  last  vitalized  by  the  fresh 
oxygen  of  original  thought.  Lessing's  career,  indeed, 
might  be  compared  to  a  pure,  keen  blast  of  mountain 
wind,  let  loose  upon  a  company  of  enervated  persons, 
dozing  in  an  atmosphere  of  exhausted  ingredients  and 
stale  perfumes.     It  was  a  breath  of  life,  but  it  made 


LEssmo.  231 

tliem  shriek  and  sliudcler.  When  they  tried  to  close 
the  window  upon  him,  he  smashed  the  panes  ;  and  then, 
with  the  irreverence  of  all  free,  natural  forces,  he  began 
to  blow  the  powder  from  their  wigs  and  the  wigs  from 
their  heads.  There  is  something  comically  pitiful  in 
the  impotent  wrath  with  which  they  attempted  to  sup- 
press him.  We  can  imagine  Gottsched,  amazed  and 
incredulous  that  any  one  should  dare  to  dispute  his 
pompous  authority,  and  even  the  good  and  gentle  Gel- 
lert,  grieving  over  the  pranks  of  this  uncontrollable 
young  poet.  We  may  be  sure  that  none  of  his  faults  of 
character  were  left  undiscovered,  and  there  are  few  men 
of  equal  power  whose  character  shows  so  fairly  after 
such  a  scrutiny.  He  was  accused  of  being  a  gambler ; 
but  the  facts  of  his  life  are  the  best  answer  to  the 
charge.  As  a  poorly-paid  writer  for  the  press  in  Ber- 
lin, and  a  general's  secretary  in  Breslau,  he  supported 
himself,  contributed  toward  the  education  of  his  bro- 
thers, and  collected  a  choice  library  of  six  thousand 
volumes.  It  is  not  easy  to  see  what  would  be  left  for 
gambling  purposes,  after  accomplishing  all  this.  His 
letters  to  his  father  exhibit  a  tender  filial  respect,  a 
patience  under  blame  and  misrepresentation,  and  a 
gentle  yet  firm  resistance,  based  on  a  manly  trust  in 
himself,  the  like  of  which  I  know  not  where  to  find. 
In  him,  genius  and  personal  character  are  not  to  be 
separated.  In  one  of  his  conversations  with  Ecker- 
mann,  Goethe  exclaimed  :    "  We  have  great  need  of  a 


232  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

man  like  Lessing ;  for  wherein  is  he  so  great  as  in  his 
character,  in  his  firm  hold  of  things  ?  There  may  be  as 
shrewd  and  intelligent  men,  but  where  is  such  a  char- 
acter?" At  another  time  Goethe  said:  "  Lessing  dis- 
claimed any  right  to  the  lofty  title  of  a  genius ;  but  his 
permanent  influence  testifies  against  himself."  Goethe 
always  considered  it  his  special  good  fortune  that  Les- 
sing existed  as  a  guide  for  his  youth.  He  compares 
the  appearance  of  ^^ Minna  von  Barnhelm "  to  that  of 
a  shining  meteor,  bursting  suddenly  on  the  darkness 
of  the  age.  "It  opened  our  eyes  to  the  fact,"  he 
says,  "  that  there  was  something  higher,  something  of 
which  that  weak  literary  epoch  had  no  comprehen- 
sion." 

I  hope  that  the  distinction  which  I  have  already  indi- 
cated is  now  tolerably  clear — that  as  a  creative  intellect, 
the  highest  rank  cannot  be  awarded  to  Lessing ;  while, 
as  a  revolutionary  power,  as  a  shaping  and  organizing 
force,  he  has  scarcely  his  equal  in  history.  He  was  a 
Reformer,  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word,  and  bore 
himself  through  life  with  the  same  independence,  the 
same  dignity,  the  same  simple  reliance  on  truth,  as 
Luther  at  Worms.  Notwithstanding  the  ephemeral 
nature  of  many  of  his  controversies,  the  greater  part 
of  them  may  still  be  read  with  profit ;  for  the  truth  that 
is  in  them  belongs  to  no  time  or  country.  While  some 
of  his  contemporaries — Klopstock  and  Wieland,  for  ex- 
ample— are  gradually  losing  their  prominence  in  Ger- 


LES8ING.  233 

man  literature,  the  place  wliicli  Lessing  fills  is  becom- 
ing larger  and  more  important.  In  one  of  liis  early 
letters  to  his  father,  he  says :  "  If  I  could  become  the 
German  Moliere,  I  should  gain  an  immortal  name."  He 
did  more  than  this  :  he  became  the  German  Lessing  ! 


vni. 

KLOPSTOCK,  WIELAND  AND  HERDER. 

I  AM  obliged,  by  my  limits,  to  group  together  in  one 
lecture,  the  three  distinguished  contemporaries  of  Les- 
sing — Klo^^stock,  Wieland  and  Herder — who  also  as- 
sisted, though  by  very  different  methods,  in  the  literary 
regeneration  of  Germany.  There  was  no  immediate 
connection  between  his  and  their  labors,  except  that  all 
tended  in  the  same  direction ;  and  the  most  I  can  at- 
tempt will  be  to  give  a  brief  outline  of  their  lives,  and  the 
special  influence  which  the  mind  of  each  exercised  upon 
the  period  in  which  they  lived.  As  all  three  survived 
the  close  of  the  century,  they  were  more  fortunate  than 
Lessing,  in  beholding  the  transition  accomplished — in 
seeing  the  age  of  formality  and  pedantry  buried  without 
funeral  honors,  and  the  age  of  free,  vigorous  and  vital 
thought  triumphantly  inaugurated. 

Although  Klopstock,  who  was  born  in  1724,  was  five 

years  older  than  Lessing,  the  two  were  students  together 

at  the  University  of  Leipzig,  in  1744,  and  Lessing's  cUhut 

as  a  dramatic  author  was  coeval  with  the  publication  of  the 

first  three  cantos  of  Klopstock's  "  3Iessias."    This  is  the 

only  coincident  circumstance  in  their  lives ;  in  all  other 

234 


ELOPSTOCK,    WIELANB   AIsD  HERDER.  235 

respects  there  is  the  greatest  uulikeness.  Klopstock,  a 
native  of  Quedlinburg,  in  Northern  Germany,  was  the 
son  of  an  official,  in  easy  circumstances.  His  education, 
completed  at  Jena  and  Leipzig,  was  thorough ;  no  dis- 
couragements met  his  early  aspirations,  and  his  very 
first  literary  venture  gave  him  fame  and  popularity.  As 
a  boy,  his  ambition  was  to  produce  a  great  German  epic, 
and  he  first  selected  the  Emperor,  Henry  the  Fowler,  as 
his  hero.  The  study  of  theology^  in  Jena,  and  proba- 
bly Milton's  example,  led  him  to  change  the  plan,  and 
adopt,  instead,  the  character  of  Christ.  His  classic 
tastes  suggested  the  form :  a  German  counterpart  of  the 
"Hiad,"  he  imagined,  must  also  be  written  in  hexameters. 
The  first  three  cantos  of  the  "Messias  "  were  published 
in  1748,  Avhen  he  was  twenty-four  years  old,  and  created 
the  profoundest  impression  all  over  Germany.  They 
were  read  with  a  reverence,  a  pious  fervor,  scarcely  less 
than  that  claimed  for  the  Sacred  Writings.  Gottsched 
and  his  school,  it  is  true,  attempted  to  depreciate  the 
work ;  but  it  was  not  felt  by  the  people  to  be  a  violent 
or  dangerous  innovation,  and  its  popularity  Avas  not  af- 
fected by  the  attack.  On  the  other  hand,  Klopstock 
was  welcomed  by  the  Swiss  school,  and  invited  by  Bod- 
mer,  its  head,  to  visit  Zurich.  I  must  here  explain  that 
Zurich  was  then  an  important  literary  centre.  The 
English  influence  was  there  predominent,  as  the  French 
was  at  Leipzig,  and  the  two  schools  were  therefore  an- 
tagonistic.    In  intellectual  force  and  temper  there  was 


236  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

not  miicli  difference  between  the  two,  but  they  achieved 
some  good  by  partly  neutralizing  each  other's  power. 

Klopstock  went  to  Zurich  in  1750,  but  did  not  remain 
there  long.  Baron  Bernstorff,  one  of  the  King  of  Den- 
mark's ministers,  invited  him  to  Copenhagen,  offering  four 
hundred  thalers  a  year  for  his  support,  in  order  that  he 
might  be  free  to  finish  his  "  Messiah."  The  proposal 
was  accepted,  the  salary  became  a  pension  for  life,  and 
for  twenty  years  Klopstock  divided  his  time  between 
Copenhagen  and  Hamburg.  He  had  no  material  cares  ; 
his  popularity  as  a  poet  was  so  great,  that  it  now  seems 
almost  disproportionate  to  his  desarts,  and  the  only 
shadow  upon  his  fortune  was  the  death  of  his  wife,  Meta 
MoUer,  whom  he  lost  in  1758,  four  years  after  their 
marriage.  In  1771  he  left  Denmark,  and  took  up  his 
permanent  residence  in  Hamburg,  where,  about  the 
year  1800,  he  was  visited  by  "Wordsworth  and  Cole- 
ridge. His  death  took  place  in  1803,  at  the  age  of 
seventy-nine. 

The  importance  of  his  life,  however,  must  not  be 
measured  by  its  uneventful  character.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  his  one  great  sorrow,  his  years  rolled  away 
tranquilly  and  happily.  He  was  a  frank,  honest  and 
loving  nature,  attracting  to  himself  the  best  friendship 
of  men,  and  the  enthusiastic  admiration  of  women. 
The  Danish  pension,  which  he  received  at  the  beginning 
of  his  career,  secured  him  against  want,  and,  with  all  the 
breadth  and  humanity  of  his  views,  he  was  fortunate 


KL0P8T0CK,   WIELAND  AND  HERDER.  237 

enough  to  escape  any  serious  persecution.  Yet,  altliougli 
his  life  was  so  serene  and  successful,  the  influences 
which  flowed  from  his  works  were  none  the  less  potent. 
He  was  also  a  reformer,  although  not  militant,  like 
Lessing.  We  do  not  see  the  flash  of  his  sword,  and 
mark  the  heads  that  fall  at  every  swing  of  his  arm  ;  but 
if  we  look  closely,  we  shall  find  that  the  strength  of  tlie 
enemy  is  slowly  sapped,  and  his  power  of  resistance 
paralyzed. 

In  examining  Klopstock's  place  as  an  author,  we 
must  avoid  the  injustice  of  applying  the  standard  of  a 
modern  and  more  intelligent  taste  to  his  works.  The 
very  fact  that  he  attained  a  swift  and  widely-extended 
popularity,  proves  two  things — that  there  Avas  an  ami- 
able, sympathetic  quality  in  his  mind,  which  appealed 
to  the  sentiment  of  his  readers,  and  that  he  did  not 
rise  so  far  above  their  intellectual  plane  that  they  were 
unable  to  follow  him.  He  might,  indeed,  have  diverged 
more  Avidely  from  the  taste  of  his  time,  and  still  retained 
his  popularity ;  for  he  possessed  one  of  the  radical  quali- 
ties of  the  German  nature,  which  was  almost  wanting 
in  Lessing — sentiment.  He  had  the  power  of  drawing 
easy  tears,  even  from  those  who  were  unable  to  ap- 
preciate his  genius.  He  was  more  or  less  a  spoiled 
child,  through  his  whole  life.  Portions  of  his  history 
read  very  strangely  to  us  now.  On  leaving  the  Univer- 
sity, he  fell  in  love  with  a  cousin,  whom  he  addressed 
as  "  Fanny  "  in  a  number  of  despairing  Odes,  because 


4 

238  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

liis  affection  was  not  returned.  He  read  these  Odes 
in  private  circles,  weeping  as  he  read,  and  moving 
his  hearers  to  floods  of  tears.  "  Fanny "  was  soon 
overwhelmed  with  letters  from  all  parts  of  Germany, 
even  from  Bodmer  in  Switzerland,  either  reproaching 
her  for  her  cruelty,  or  imjDloring  her  to  yield.  I  am 
glad  to  say  that  she  had  character  enough  to  refuse, 
and  to  marry  a  man  whom  she  loved.  Klopstock, 
afterward,  floating  on  the  Lake  of  Zurich,  with  large 
companies  of  men  and  maidens,  continued  to  repeat  his 
melancholy  verses,  until  he  and  all  the  others  wept, 
finally  kissed  all  around,  and  cried  out :  "  This  is  Ely- 
Slum ! 

What  is  called  the  Sturm  und  Drang  period  of  Ger- 
man literature  (Carlyle  translates  the  phrase  by  "  Storm 
and  Stress  "),  was  partly  a  natural  and  inevitable  phase 
of  development ;  but  in  so  far  as  it  was  brought  about 
by  the  influence  of  living  authors,  Klopstock  must  be 
looked  upon  as  one  of  the  chief  agencies.  When  we 
hear  of  the  boy  Goethe  and  his  sister  Cornelia  declaim- 
ing passages  from  the  "  Messiah,"  with  such  energy 
that  the  frightened  barber  dropped  his  basin,  and  came 
near  gashing  the  throat  of  Goethe  the  father,  we  may 
guess  the  power  of  the  impression  which  Klopstock 
made.  It  is  not  sufiicient,  therefore,  that  we  read  the 
"  Messiah  "  as  if  it  had  been  written  yesterday.  We 
may  smile  at  its  over-laden  passion  and  its  difiiisive 
sentiment,  but  when  we  come  to  it  from  the  literature 


EL0P8T0CK,  WIELAND  AND  HERDER.         239 

which  preceded  it,  we  feel,  by  contrast,  that  a  pure  and 
refreshing  stream  of  poetry  has  at  last  burst  forth  from 
the  barren  soil.  The  number  of  those  who  in  Germany, 
at  present,  read  the  whole  of  the  "Messiah,"  is  larger 
than  the  number  of  those  who  in  England  now  read  the 
whole  of  Sj)enser's  "Faery  Queene  ;  "  but  it  is  yet  very 
small.  In  fact,  life  is  too  short  for  a  poem  of  twenty  can- 
tos and  twenty  thousand  lines  of  hexameter,  unless  it  be 
a  truly  great  poem.  Klopstock  began  the  publication  of 
the  "  Messiah  "  in  1748  and  finished  it  in  1773 — a  period 
of  twenty-five  years.  It  would  take  more  time  than  I 
can  now  spare,  to  give  even  an  outline  of  the  poem. 
It  commences  with  the  withdrawal  of  Christ  apart  from 
his  disciples,  to  commune  with  God  upon  Mount  Olivet, 
includes  the  Last  Supper,  the  Trial,  Crucifixion  and 
Resurrection,  and  closes  in  Heaven,  when  Christ  takes 
his  seat,  as  the  Son,  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Father. 
The  action,  however,  is  complicated  by  the  introduction 
of  a  great  number  of  angels  and  devils,  and  the  souls  of 
all  the  chief  personages  of  the  Old  Testament,  begin- 
ning with  Adam  and  Eve.  Even  the  daughter  of  Jairus 
and  the  son  of  the  widow  of  Nain  are  among  the  char- 
acters. 

The  opening  lines  remind  us  both  of  Homer  and  of 
Milton : 

Sing',  unsterbliclie  Seele,  dcr  siin-  Sing,  Immortal  Spirit,  of  sinful 
digen  Mensclicn  Erlosung,  man's  redemption, 

Die  der  Messias  auf  Erden  in  sei-  Which  on  earth  in  his  human 
ner  Menschheit  vollendet,  form  fulfilled  the  Messiah, 


240 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Und   durch   die   er   Adams   Ge- 

schleclite  die  Liebe  der  Gott- 

lieit, 
Mit  dem  Blute  des  heiligen  Bun- 

des   von  Neuem   geschenkt 

hat. 
Also  geschali  des  Ewigen  Wille. 

Vergebens  erhub  sich 
Satan  wider  den  gottlicben  Sobn ; 

umsonst  stand  Juda 
Wider  ilin  auf ;  er  that's  iind  voll- 

brachte   die  grosse  Versoh- 

nung. 


Suffering,  slain  and  transfigured, 
whence  the  children  of 
Adam 

Once  again  he  hath  lifted  up  to 
the  love  of  the  Godhead. 

Thus  was  done  the  Eternal  Will: 

and  vainlv  did  Satan 
Trouble   the  Son   Divine ;    and 

Juda  vainly  opposed  him  : 
As  it  was   willed,  he  did,  and 
completed  the  mighty  Atone- 
ment. 


The  "  Messiah  "  is  only  indirectly  didactic  and  doc- 
trinal. On  account  of  the  multitude  of  characters,  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  action,  and  the  narrative  continually 
breaks  into  dialogue.  It  is  pervaded  throughout  by 
the  tender  humanity  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  has 
many  passages  of  genuine  sublimity.  But  it  is  pitched 
altogether  upon  too  lofty  and  ambitious  a  key,  and  the 
mind  of  the  reader,  at  last,  becomes  very  weary  of 
hanging  suspended  between  heaven  and  earth.  I  will 
translate  another  passage,  to  show  how  Klopstock  de- 
scribes the  Indescribable  : 


Gott   sprach   so   und  stand  auf 

vom   ewigen    Throne.     Der 

Thron  klang 
Unter  ihm  hin,  da  er  aufstand. 

Des  Allerheiligsten  Berge 
Zitterten  und  mit  ihnen  der  Altar 

des  gottlichen  Mittlers. 


God  so  spake,  and  arose  from 
his  Throne  Eternal,  resound- 
ing 

Under  Him,  as  He  arose  :  the 
hills  of  the  Holy  of  Holies 

Trembled,  and  with  them  the 
altar  of  the  Divine  Medi- 
ator. 


KL0P8T0CK,  WIELANB  AND  HERDER. 


241 


Mit  (les  Versolmenclen  Altar  die 

Wolken  des  lieiligen   Dun- 

kels 
Dreimal  flielin  sie  zurlick.    Zum 

viertenmal  bebt  des  Gericlit- 

stulils 
Letzte  Hcili',  es  beben  an  ibm  die 

furcbtbaren  Stufen 

Sicbtbar  bcrvor,  imd  der  Ewigo 

steigt  von  dem  bimmliscben 

Throne. 
So,    wenn     ein    festlicber    Tag 

durcb  die  Himmel  alle  ge- 

feiert  wird, 
Und  mit  allgegenwiirtigeni  Wink 

der  Ewige  wiuket, 
Stehen  dann    auf    Einmal,  aiif 

alien  Sonnen  und  Erden, 
Glanzend    von    ibren    goldenen 

Stublen,    tausend   bei  taus- 

end, 
Alle  Serapbim  auf  ;  dann  klin- 

gen  die  goldenen  Stiible 

Und  der  Harfen  Gebet  und  die 
niedergeworfenen  Kronen. 

Also  ertonte  der  bimmlische 
Tbron,  da  Gott  von  ibm  auf- 
stand. 


Yea,  with  tbe  altar  the  clouds  of 
the  holy,  mysterious  dark- 
ness 

Thrice  they  withdrew  :  tbe 
fourth,  tbe  Seat  of  the  Judge 
to  its  summit 

Shook,  and  the  awful  steps  that 
lead  to  the  summit  were 
shaken 

Visibly  :  down  from  his  Throne 
descended  then  the  Eternal. 

As,  when  a  festival  day  is  kept 
through  the  infinite  heavens, 

When  the  beckon  of  God  is  om- 
nipresently  witnessed, 

Then,  at  once,  on  all  the  suns 
and  all  of  the  planets 

Shiningly  from  their  golden 
scats,  by  thousands  of 
thousands 

Rise  the  Seraphim  :  then  from 
their  golden  seats  the  ac- 
cordance 

Joins  the  sound  of  tbe  harps 
and  tbe  clang  of  the  crowns 
in  their  falling  : — 

So,  when  God  stood  up,  the 
Heavenly  Throne  resound- 
ed. 


If  we  cannot  now  find  such  passages  as  this  almost 
superhuman  in  their  sublimity,  we  can,  at  least,  with  a 
little  effort  of  the  imagination,  understand  that  a  large 
portion  of  the  German  reading  public  should  have  so 
considered  them,  at  the  time  when  they  appeared. 
Klopstock's  friends  claim  that  he  was  the  first  to  intro- 
11 


242  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

duce  tlie  classic  liexameter  into  tlie  language.  He  was 
certainly  the  first  wlio  did  so  successfully  ;  but  Lessing 
shows  that  both  the  hexameter  and  the  elegiac  mea- 
sure were  used  by  Fischart,  in  the  seventeenth  century. 
Klopstock's  hexameters,  moreover,  are  by  no  means 
above  criticism  ;  many  of  his  lines  try  both  the  ear  and 
the  tongue,  while  now  and  then  we  find  one  which  is 
melody  itself.  Take,  for  instance,  this  line  in  the  origi- 
nal : 

Todesworte  nocli  stets  und  des  Weltgerichts  Flucli  aussprach. 

Here  the  ear  bumps  along  over  a  corduroy  road  of 
hard  syllables.     Now  compare  this  line  : 

Deines  scliwebenden  tonenden  Ganges  melodisclies  Raiisclien. 

It  has  a  linked  sweetness  which  would  have  delighted 
Milton.  Klopstock  did  not  perceive  the  truth,  which 
Goethe  afterward  discovered,  that  the  hexameter,  to  be 
agreeable,  must  put  off  its  Greek  or  Latin  habits,  and 
adapt  itself  to  the  spirit  and  manner  of  the  German  lan- 
guage ;  but  his  labor  was  both  honest  and  fruitful.  The 
"  Messiah  "  was  the  result  of  a  deliberate  purpose  to 
produce  an  epic  ;  the  subject,  we  might  almost  say,  was 
mechanically  chosen,  and  we  can  only  wonder  that  a 
work  produced  under  such  conditions  had  so  much 
positive  success  in  its  day. 

His  "  Odes,"  which  also  attained  a  great  popularity, 
were  formed  upon  classical  models.     He  endeavored, 


KL0P8T0GK,  WIELAND  AND  HERDER.  243 

in  tliem,  to  make  eloquence  and  sentiment  supply  the 
place  of  rhyme.  To  me  they  seem  like  a  series  of 
gymnastic  exercises,  whereby  the  muscles  of  the  lan- 
guage became  stronger  and  its  joints  more  flexible, 
although  the  finer  essence  of  poetry  disappears  in  the 
process.  Klopstock  hoped,  and  his  admirers  believed, 
that  he  was  creating  a  classic  German  literature,  by 
adopting  the  forms  which  had  become  classic  in  other 
languages.  All  we  can  now  admit  is  that  he  substi- 
tuted the  influence  of  Greek  literature  for  that  of  the 
French ;  and  this,  at  the  time,  was  no  slight  service. 
His  Odes  were  the  earliest  inspiration  of  Schiller,  and 
he  had  also  a  crowd  of  imitators  who  have  left  no  names 
behind  them. 

None  of  his  dramatic  poems  can  be  called  successful. 
His  "  Herman's  Fight "  was  written,  like  his  "Messiah," 
for  a  deliberate  purpose — to  counteract  the  French  in- 
fluence which  was  still  upheld  in  Germany,  not  only 
by  Gottsched  and  his  school,  but  also  by  the  Court  of 
Frederick  the  Great.  It  was  dedicated  to  Joseph  II. 
of  Austria,  who  was  looked  upon  as  the  representative 
of  the  German  spirit.  But  Klopstock,  faithful  to  his 
idea  of  transplanting  classic  forms,  revived  the  old 
Teutonic  gods,  and  endeavored  to  construct  a  new  Ger- 
man Olympus.  The  result  is  very  much  like  a  mas- 
querade. "We  see  the  faces  and  beards  of  the  old 
Teutonic  tribes,  their  shields  and  war-clubs,  but  we 
hear  would-be  Grecian  voices  when  they  speak.     His 


244  OERMAN  LITERATURE. 

attempts  in  tliis  direction,  however,  led  liim  to  a  deeper 
study  of  the  growth  and  development  of  the  German 
language,  and  determined,  for  many  years,  the  char- 
acter of  his  literary  activity.  In  1780  he  published  his 
"  Fragments  relating  to  Language  and  Poetry,"  and  in 
1793  his  "  Grammatical  Conversations  " — both  sound 
and  valuable  works.  Yet  in  them,  as  in  his  dramatic 
poems,  the  effect  was  greater  than  its  cause.  Probably 
no  author  of  the  last  century  did  so  much  toward  cre- 
ating a  national  sentiment,  toward  checking  the  im- 
pressibility of  the  race  to  foreign  influences,  arousing 
native  pride  and  stimulating  native  ambition.  This  was 
his  greatest  service,  especially  since  the  German  peo- 
ple saw  in  him  the  evidence  of  what  he  taught.  "Where 
Lessing  cut  his  way  by  destructive  criticism,  Klopstock 
worked  more  slowly  by  example.  In  force  and  scope 
and  originality  of  intellect  there  can  be  no  comparison 
between  the  two  men:  Klopstock  must  always  be  ranked 
among  minds  of  the  second  class :  but  when  we  esti- 
mate what  they  achieved  during  their  lives,  there  is 
less  difference.  After  Gottsched's  death  there  was  no 
one  to  assail  Klopstock's  fame,  for  all  the  greater  minds 
that  followed  him  appreciated  his  work  and  honored 
him  for  it.  His  prominence  as  an  author  did  not  dimin- 
ish materially  during  his  life,  and  the  true  proportions, 
into  which  his  fame  has  since  then  slowly  settled,  are 
still  large  enough  to  make  him  a  conspicuous  figure  in 
the   literary  history  of  the  age.     Although   not   more 


KLOPSTOCK,  WIELAND  AND  HERDER.  245 

than  ten  of  his  two  hundred  odes  live  in  the  pop;ih>r 
memory,  his  sweet  and  fervent  hymns  are  sung  in  all 
the  Protestant  churches,  and  many  lines  and  phrases 
from  his  poems  have  become  household  words. 

In  Christopher  Martin  "Wieland,  we  have  a  personal 
history  almost  as  placid  as  Klopstock's,  yet  an  intellect 
of  very  different  texture,  to  consider.  Through  him  we 
shall  first  make  acquaintance  with  that  company  of  men 
who  have  made  the  name  of  Weimar  almost  as  renowned 
as  that  of  Athens.  I  shall  have  more  difficulty  in  indi- 
cating the  exact  place  which  he  occupies  in  the  lite- 
rary development  of  Germany,  for  the  reason  that  his 
intellectual  characteristics  are  of  a  lighter  and  airier 
quality,  and  are  not  so  readily  transferred  to  another 
language. 

Wieland  was  born  near  Biberach,  in  Wiirtemberg,  in 
1733.  Like  Lessing,  he  was  the  son  of  a  clergyman, 
and  as  a  boy  was  noted  for  his  lively,  precocious  intel- 
lect. He  had  studied  Latin,  Greek  and  Hebrew,  and 
attempted  poetry,  at  the  age  of  twelve.  Three  or  four 
years  later  he  acquired  the  French  and  English  lan- 
guages, and  then  entered  the  University  at  Tiibingen  for 
the  purpose  of  studying  law,  to  which  he  devoted  no 
more  attention  than  Lessing  did  to  theology.  His  na- 
ture was  flexible  and  easily  impressed,  and  the  appear- 
ance of  the  first  three  cantos  of  the  "  Messiah  "  impelled 
him  to  attempt  a  similar  work.  He  projected  a  great 
German  epic,  to  be  called   "Arminius"  very  little  of 


246  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

wliicli  Avas  written.  One  of  the  first  works  which  he 
published  was  entitled  "  Ten  Moral  Letters."  These 
early  essays  attracted  the  notice  of  Bodmer  and  the 
Zurich  school,  and  he  was  invited  thither  in  1752,  as 
Klopstock  had  been  two  years  before.  He  was  then  a 
youth  of  nineteen,  and  for  several  years  thenceforth  he 
seems  to  have  been  entirely  under  the  influence  of 
Bodmer,  Gessner  and  the  other  chiefs  of  the  Swiss 
literary  clan. 

He  was  unfortunate  in  all  his  ventures  during  this 
period.  He  commenced  an  epic,  of  which  Cyrus  was  the 
hero,  but  the  first  five  books  were  received  so  coldly  by 
the  public,  that  the  design  was  given  up.  A  tragedy 
called  "Lady  Jane  Gray  "  met  with  no  better  fate,  un- 
less Lessing's  merciless  re^dew  of  it  can  be  considered  a 
distinction.  He  thereupon  attempted  a  lighter  and 
gayer  style,  choosing  as  his  subject  the  episode  of 
"Araspes  and  Panthea  "  from  Xenophon,  but  this  work 
also  attracted  very  little  attention.  He  remained  in 
Switzerland  until  1760,  when  he  returned  to  his  native 
place,  and  accepted  a  clerkship  in  the  Chancery.  The 
duties  of  the  ofl&ce  were  distasteful  to  so  mercurial  a 
nature,  and  he  sought  relief  from  them  in  undertaking 
a  translation  of  Shakespeare,  which  employed  him  for 
four  or  five  years.  This,  I  believe,  was  the  first  com- 
plete publication  of  Shakespeare  in  German,  and  it  ap- 
peared most  opportunely  for  the  development  which  had 
then  commenced.     Although  it  has  since  been  super- 


KLOPSTOGK,  WIELAND  AND  HERDEB.  247 

seded  by  the  more  tliorougli  translation  of  Sclilegel 
and  Tieck,  it  was  a  careful  and  conscientious  work,  for 
wliicli  Wieland  deserves  the  gratitude  of  his  country- 
men. 

Wieland  married  in  1765,  and  four  years  later  ac- 
cepted the  appointment  of  Professor  of  Philosophy  at 
the  University  of  Erfurt.  After  the  publication  of  his 
Shakespeare,  he  turned  again  to  authorship,  and  his- 
persistence  at  last  brought  success.  With  the  same 
susceptibility  to  external  influences,  his  new  attempts 
were  inspired,  partly  by  the  French  authors  of  the 
time,  Eousseau  among  them,  and  partly  by  his  lyric 
taste.  His  "Agathon,'"  published  in  1767,  first  made 
him  generally  and  favorably  known.  Its  leading  idea 
is  to  show  in  what  degree  the  external  world  contributes 
to  human  development,  and  how  far  wisdom  and  virtue 
are  sustained  by  the  forces  of  nature.  Three  or  four 
works,  in  which  love  is  the  sole  theme,  followed  in 
quick  succession ;  and,  although  they  were  denounced 
in  many  quarters,  as  being  free  to  the  verge  of  immo- 
rality, they  were  none  the  less  read.  After  his  accept- 
ance of  the  professorship  at  Erfurt  he  probably  found 
it  expedient  to  guard  himself  against  a  recurrence  of  the 
charge,  for  the  character  of  his  works  changed,  and  Ave 
find  in  them  an  element  of  satire  which  up  to  this  time 
was  not  exhibited.  He  next  published  ^'Der  goldene 
Spiegel "  (The  Golden  Mirror),  wliicli  was  inspired  by 
the  liberal  policy  of  Joseph  II.     Wieland's  intellectual 


248  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

nature,  thus  far,  may  best  be  described  by  our  liomely 
word  "  flighty."  Tliere  is  little  evidence  of  any  serious 
literary  principle,  any  coherent  purpose,  in  his  works, 
and  he  seems,  in  this  respect,  as  un-German  as  possi- 
ble. But  there  is  a  sportive  ease  and  grace  in  every- 
thing he  undertakes,  which  is  new  to  the  language.  If 
Lessing  gave  it  precision  and  Klopstock  freedom,  Wie- 
land  certainly  gave  it  lightness.  The  first  half  of 
Wieland's  life  and  literary  activity  was  passed,  as  we 
have  seen,  in  a  restless  series  of  changes ;  his  place 
of  residence,  his  occupation  and  the  character  of  his 
works  changing  every  few  years.  His  wanderings  were 
now  to  end,  and  a  long  season  of  rest  and  stability, 
the  effect  of  which  is  manifest  in  his  later  writings,  was 
granted  to  his  life.  In  1772,  the  Duchess  Amalia,  of 
Saxe-Weimar,  offered  him  the  |)ost  of  tutor  to  the 
young  princes,  her  sons,  with  a  salary  of  one  thou- 
sand thalers  a  year,  which  afterward  Avas  continued 
as  a  pension  for  life.  The  eldest  of  these  princes 
was  Karl  August,  the  immortal  patron  of  literature, 
who  was  then  fifteen  years  old.  The  Duchess  Amalia 
had  already  assembled  around  her  in  Weimar  a  supe- 
rior literary  circle,  including  Knebel,  Musseus  and  Ein- 
siedel.  Three  years  later,  when  Karl  August  assumed 
the  ducal  government,  Goethe,  then  in  his  twenty-sixth 
year,  was  called  to  Weimar.  In  the  meantime,  how- 
ever, Wieland  had  published  a  lyrical  drama,  "Alces- 
iis,'"   which   was   well   received   by    everybody   except 


ELOP STOCK,  WIELAND  AND  HERDER.  249 

Goetlie,  wlio  satirized  it  in  a  dialogue  entitled :  "  Gods, 
Heroes  and  Wieland."  One  of  Wieland's  admirers 
retorted  by  publishing  a  farce,  called  "Men,  Beasts 
and  Goethe."  Wieland  seems  to  have  been  neither 
vain  nor  sensitive  to  attack.  He  treated  the  matter 
good-humoredly,  afterward  acknowledged  the  justice 
of  Goethe's  satire,  and  became  at  once  his  personal 
friend. 

Wieland's  intellect  became  broader  and  clearer 
through  his  intercourse  with  the  Weimar  circle.  His 
works,  thenceforth,  exhibit  greater  finish  and  consist- 
ence ;  yet  he  never  entirely  emancipated  himself  from 
the  influence  of  the  French  school,  never  adopted  the 
lofty  standard  of  excellence  which  Schiller  and  Goethe, 
and  even  Herder,  set  for  themselves.  The  deficiency 
was  inherent  in  his  nature  :  his  temperament  was  too 
gay  and  cheerful,  too  dependent  on  moods  and  sensa- 
tions, for  the  earnest  work  of  his  fellow  authors.  Ho 
did  good  service,  however,  by  establishing,  soon  after 
his  arrival  in  Weimar,  a  monthly  literary  periodical, 
called  "  Der  deutsclie  Mercur,"  which  he  thenceforth 
edited  for  more  than  thirty  years,  and  which  was  the 
vehicle  through  which  the  most  prominent  authors  be- 
came known  to  a  wider  circle  of  readers.  In  1780  he 
published  his  romantic  epic  of  "  Oheron,''  the  most 
permanently  popular  of  all  his  works.  It  is  an  admi- 
rable specimen  of  what  Goethe  calls  the  naive  in  litera- 
ture— the  free,  graceful  play  of  the  imagination.  In- 
11* 


250  GERMAN  LITEBATUBE. 

deed,  as  a  specimen  of  poetic  story-telling,  it  lias  not 
often  been  excelled  in  any  language.  We  have,  at  pres- 
ent, such  a  story-teller  in  England — Mr.  William  Mor- 
ris— the  graces  of  whose  metrical  narratives  are  now 
delighting  us  ;  but  their  tone,  even  when  he  chooses  a 
bright  Greek  subject,  is  grave  almost  to  sadness.  They 
are  chanted  in  the  minor  key,  and  a  sky  of  gray  cloud, 
or,  when  brightest,  veiled  by  a  hazy  mist,  hangs  over 
all  the  landscapes  of  his  verse.  Change  this  tone  and 
atmosphere :  let  them  be  clear,  fresh  and  joyous  :  add 
sunshine,  and  pleasant  airs,  and  the  multitudinous  dance 
of  the  waves,  and  you  have  the  character  of  Wieland's 
poetry.  His  "  Oheron"  is  as  charming  now  as  when  it 
was  first  written.  It  has  all  the  grace  and  the  melody 
and  the  easy  movement  of  Ariosto.  The  severe  critic 
may  say  tliat  the  poem  teaches  nothing  ;  that  many  of 
the  incidents  are  simply  grotesque  ;  that  the  plot  is  awk- 
wardly constructed  ;  that  the  hero  exhibits  no  real  he- 
roism, and  the  fairy  king  and  queen  are  borrowed  from 
Shakespeare  :  the  reader  will  always  answer — "  All  this 
may  be  true,  but  the  jDoem  is  delightful."  The  secret  of 
"  Oberon  "  seems  to  me,  that  Wieland  has  combined  the 
joyousness  and  the  freedom  of  the  Greek  nature,  with  the 
form  and  the  manner  of  the  romantic  school  in  literature. 
I  have  re-read  it  carefully  (for  the  third  or  fourth  time) 
for  the  purpose  of  selecting  some  passages  which  might 
best  illustrate  its  character ;  but  I  find  it  difficult  to 
make  any  choice,  where  the  key-note  of  the  poem  is  so 


KLOP STOCK,   WIELA^'D  ANB  HERDER. 


251 


evenly  sustained  tlirougliout.  I  will  tlierefore  translate 
a  few  of  the  opening  stanzas,  wliich  will  serve  my  pur- 
pose as  well  as  any  otliers.  Ton  will  notice  tliat  while 
these  stanzas  are  each  of  eight  lines,  the  length  and  the 
metrical  character  of  the  lines,  and  the  order  of  rhyme, 
are  varied  according  to  the  author's  will : 


Noct    einmal    sattelt    mir    den 

Hippogryplien,  ihr  Musen, 
Zum  Ritt  ins  alte  romantisclie 

Land  ! 
Wie   lieblicli   um    meinen   ent- 

fesselten  Busen 
Der    holde    Wahnsinn     spielt  ! 

Wer  sclilang  das  magisclie 

Band 
Um  meine  Stirne  ?    Wer  treibt 

von  meinen  Angen  den  Ne- 

bel, 
Der  auf  der  Vorwelt  Wundern 

liegt  ? 
Ich   sell',    in  buntem   Gewiilil, 

bald  siegend,  bald  besiegt, 
Des  Ritters  gutes  Schwert,  der 

Heiden  bliukende  Slibel, 


Ye  Muses,  come  saddle  me  the 
Hyppogryff  again, 

For  a  ride  in  the  old,  the  ro- 
mantic land  ! 

How  sweetly  now,  around  my 
breast  and  brain, 

The  fair  illusion  plays  !  Who 
bound  that  magic  baud 

About  my  brow  1  Who  from 
mine  eyelids  blew  the  haze, 

Hiding  the  wonders  of  old  days  ? 

I  see,  now  conquered,  now  o'er- 
come,  in  endless  labor. 

The  faithful  sword  of  the 
knight,  the  Payuim's  shin- 
ing sabre  ! 


Vergebens    knirscht    des  alten 

Sultans   Zorn, 
Yergebens  draut  ein  Wald  von 

starren  Lanzen  ; 
Es  ttint  im  lieblichen  Ton  das 

elfenbeinerne  Horn, 
Und,    wie   ein    Wirbel,    egreift 

sie   alle  die  Wuth  zu  tan- 

zen. 


In    vain    the    ancient    Sultan's 

wrath  and  scorn. 
Threatens   in   vain   a   grove   of 

leveled  lances  ; 
The  exquisite  notes  are  heard  of 

the  ivory  horn. 
And  the  crowd    is    seized    and 

whirled       in      tumultuous 

dances ! 


252  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Sie   drelin  im  Kreise   sich  um,  They  turn  and  circle  till  breath 

bis   Sinn    und  Athem  ent-  and  sense  are  lost. 

geht. 

Triumph,  Herr  Ritter,  Triumph  1  Triumph,  Sir  Knight,  is  thine! 

Gewonnen  ist  die  Schone.  Thou  hast  won  the  beauty  : 

Was    siiumt     ihr  ?    Fort !    der  Why  delay  ?     Thy  flag  in    the 

Wimpel  weht :  breeze  is  tossed  ; 

Nach   Eom,    dass    euern    Bund  Away  to  Rome,  where  the  Holy 

der  heil'ge  Vater  krone  I  Father  claims  thy  duty  ! 

This  light  and  rapid  movement  characterizes  the  whole 
poem,  which  seems  to  have  been  written  only  in  holi- 
days of  the  mind.  The  reading  of  it,  therefore,  is  not 
a  task,  but  a  pure  recreation.  Wieland,  in  this  respect, 
was  an  unconscious  and  unintentional  reformer.  Goethe, 
I  have  already  stated,  was  led  by  Lessing  to  seek  for 
the  true  principles  of  literary  art ;  but  it  is  equally  cer- 
tain that  he  learned  of  Wieland  to  relieve  and  lighten 
the  gravity  of  his  style — to  add  grace  to  proportion, 
and  give  a  playful  character  to  earnest  thought. 

Wieland  must  be  considered  as  one  of  the  chief 
founders  of  the  romantic  school.  The  "  Storm  and 
Stress "  period,  which  was  simply  a  fermentation  of 
the  conflicting  elements — a  struggle  by  means  of  which 
the  new  era  of  literature  grew  into  existence — com- 
menced about  the  year  1770,  and  continued  for  twenty 
years.  During  its  existence  the  Romantic  School  was 
developed,  separating  itself  from  the  classic  school,  by 
its  freedom  of  form,  its  unrestrained  sentiment,  and  its 
seeking  after  startling  effects.  It  was  a  natural  retalia- 
tion, that  France,  forty  years  later,  should  have  bor- 


KLOPSTOGE,   WIELA^'-D   AND  HERDER.  253 

rowed  this  scliool  from  Germany.  Wieland  was  not  a 
partisan  in  tlie  struggle  ;  neither  was  lie  drawn  into  it, 
and  forced  to  work  his  way  out  again,  as  were  Goethe 
and  Schiller.  He  belonged  to  the  Komantic  school  by 
his  nature,  and  to  the  classic  school  by  his  culture, 
but  the  former  gave  the  distinguishing  character  to  his 
works. 

After  the  completion  of  "  Oheron,''  he  undertook  the 
translation  of  Horace  and  Lucian,  which  was  followed 
by  the  publication  of  the  "AttiscJie  Museum  " — a  collec- 
tion of  the  principal  Greek  classics,  translated  by  differ- 
ent hands.  Until  Schiller  started  his  magazine,  called 
"Die  Horen  "  (The  Hours),  Wieland's  "  Deutscher  Mercur  " 
was  the  first  literary  periodical  in  Germany.  His  later 
original  works  are  few  and  unimportant,  and  had  little 
influence  on  the  thought  of  the  time.  He  lived  to  see 
the  battle  of  Jena,  to  be  presented  by  Napoleon  with 
the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  in  1808,  and  died, 
eighty  years  old,  in  the  year  of  German  Liberation, 
1813. 

In  this  brief  sketch  of  Wieland,  I  have  scarcely  men- 
tioned more  than  half  of  his  works,  because  it  is  not 
necessary  for  the  purpose  of  indicating  his  place  as 
an  author.  Perhaps  ten  per  cent,  of  the  thirty-six 
volumes  which  he  left  behind  him,  are  now  read.  The 
winnowing-mill  of  Time  makes  sad  havoc  with  works 
considered  immortal  in  their  day.  A  great  deal  of 
Wieland's  productiveness  has  been  blown  away  as  chaff, 


254  GBRMAW  LITERATURE. 

but  enoiigli  sound  grain  remains  to  account  for  his  in- 
fluence, and  to  justify  our  honorable  recognition  of  his 
genius.  If  he  did  not  follow  trvith  with  the  unselfish 
devotion  of  Lessing— if  he  was  not  animated  by  a  lofty 
patriotic  purpose,  like  Klopstock — we  nevertheless  do 
not  feel  inclined  to  judge  him  too  rigidly.  His  grace, 
his  humor,  his  delicate  irony  and  refined  though  rather 
shallow  appreciation  of  the  element  of  beauty,  disarm 
us  in  advance.  We  cannot  escape  a  hearty  friendly 
feeling  for  the  man  who  was  always  so  cheerful  and 
amiable,  and  whose  works,  light  as  they  may  seem  in 
comparison,  form  a  counterpoise  for  so  many  of  the 
"  heavy  weights  "  in  German  Literature.  Falk  relates 
that  on  the  day  after  Wieland's  burial,  Goethe  spoke 
of  him  in  these  terms :  "  He  possessed  an  incomparable 
nature  :  in  him  all  was  fluency,  spirit  and  taste  !  It  is 
a  cheerful  plain,  where  theie  is  nothing  to  stumble 
over,  threaded  by  the  stream  of  a  comical  wit,  which 
winds  capriciously  in  all  directions,  and  sometimes 
even  turns  against  its  author.  There  is  not  the  slight- 
est trace  in  him  of  that  deliberate,  laborious  technical 
quality,  which  sometimes  spoils  for  us  the  best  ideas 
and  feelings,  by  making  their  expression  seem  artificial. 
This  natural  ease  and  freedom  is  the  reason  why  I 
always  prefer  to  read  Shakespeare  in  "Wieland's  transla- 
tion. He  handled  rhyme  as  a  master.  I  believe,  if 
one  had  poured  upon  his  desk  a  composing-case  full  of 
words,  he  would  have  arranged  them,  in  a  little  while. 


ELOPSTOCK,  WIELAWD  AND  HERDEB.  255 

into  a  charming  poem."  Altliougli  this  is  the  tribute 
of  a  friend  who  had  been  for  forty  years  intimate  with 
Wielaud,  and  was  given  during  the  tender  sorrow  which 
his  loss  called  forth,  it  is  not  exaggerated  praise. 

Just  such  an  intellectual  temperament  as  Wieland 
possessed  was  needed  in  his  time.  The  language  as 
well  as  the  literature  was  in  the  process  of  develop- 
ment :  there  were  enough  of  thoughtful  and  earnest 
minds  engaged  in  the  work,  and  they  would  have  fallen 
too  exclusively  into  the  serious,  brooding  habit  of  the 
race,  had  they  not  been  interrupted  by  Wieland's  play- 
ful fancy  and  his  delicate  satire.  Our  English  lan- 
guage found  all  these  qualities  combined  in  the  one 
man,  Shakespeare,  but  other  countries  have  not  been  so 
fortunate.  It  required  three  men — Lessing,  Wieland 
and  Goethe — to  perform  a  similar  service  for  the  Ger- 
man language.  In  this  respect,  the  sportive  element  in 
Wieland's  mind  was  as  valuable  as  genius.  It  is  cer- 
tainly rarer.  Much  of  our  modern  literature  lacks  the 
same  quality.  It  betrays  the  grave  labored  purpose  of 
the  author,  as  if  expression  were  a  stern  duty,  instead 
of  seeming,  as  it  should  seem,  free,  inevitable  and  joy- 
ous. Goethe  says  that  Wieland  was  the  only  member 
of  the  Weimar  circle  who  could  publish  his  works  in 
the  monthly  "  Mercury  "  by  instalments,  as  they  were 
written,  without  being  at  all  affected  by  the  miscon- 
ception of  the  public  or  the  hostile  criticism  of  his 
rivals.     It  is  pleasant  to  contemplate  the  activity  of  so 


256  OEBMAN  LITERATURE.   ' 

serene  and  cheerful  a  mind.  He  never  had  a  following 
of  enthusiastic  admirers,  like  Klopstock  or  Schiller, 
but  the  public  regarded  him  always  with  a  kindly 
good-will.  It  was  for  a  time  fashionable,  in  Germany, 
to  depreciate  his  literary  achievements.  He  has  been 
accused  of  being  governed  by  French  influences,  be- 
cause of  his  light  and  volatile  nature  ;  but  the  influ- 
ence, so  far  as  it  existed,  soon  wore  off,  and  left  only 
the  natural  resemblance,  which  was  no  fault.  On  the 
contrary,  it  was  his  good  fortune  and  that  of  his  con- 
temporaries. 

I  do  not  mention  Herder  last  because  I  consider  him 
the  least  important  of  the  three,  but  simply  because  he 
came  last  in  the  order  of  birth.  Although  a  good  part 
of  the  fight  had  been  fought,  by  the  time  he  was  old 
enough  to  engage  in  it,  he  belongs  also  to  the  pioneers 
and  builders.  It  is  remarkable  that,  in  this  review  of 
the  great  German  authors  of  the  last  century,  each 
retains,  from  first  to  last,  his  own  clearly-marked  indi- 
viduality. Each  preserves  his  own  independent  activity, 
while  following  a  similar  aim,  even  after  years  of  the 
closest  personal  intercourse.  There  was  a  wide  field 
and  much  work  before  them,  and  Nature  seems  so  to 
have  ordered  their  minds,  that  each  found  his  fitting 
department  of  labor,  and  all,  together,  carried  forward 
a  broad  front  of  development. 

Johann  Gottfried  Herder  was  born  in  1744,  in  a  village 
in  Eastern  Prussia,  where  his  father  was  teacher  and 


KLOPSTOCE,  WIELAND  AND  HERDER.  257 

Cantor  in  the  cliurcli.  Allowed  to  read  nothing  but  the 
Bible  and  the  hymn-book  at  home,  his  craving  for  knowl- 
edge attracted  the  attention  of  a  neighboring  clergyman, 
whoigave  him  instruction  in  Latin  and  Greek.  At  the 
age  of  eighteen,  a  Kussian  physician,  who  took  a  great 
interest  in  the  eager,  intelligent,  friendless  boy,  proposed 
to  have  him  educated  as  a  surgeon,  in  Konigsberg  and 
St.  Petersburg.  He  fainted  on  beholding  the  first  dis- 
section, and  the  plan  was  given  up  ;  but  he  remained  in 
Konigsberg,  subsisting  literally  on  charity,  and  study- 
ing at  the  University.  The  philosopher  Kant  allowed 
him  to  attend  his  lectures  without  paying  the  usual  fee. 
The  study  of  theology  specially  attracted  him,  but  no 
branch  of  knowledge  was  neglected.  After  struggling 
along,  under  the  most  discouraging  circumstances,  for 
two  years,  he  accepted  a  situation  as  teacher  in  Riga, 
and  began  to  preach  as  soon  as  he  had  been  properl}' 
ordained  to  the  office.  His  popularity  became  so  gi-eat, 
both  as  a  teacher  and  as  an  eloquent,  earnest  preacher, 
that  in  the  course  of  four  or  five  years  his  friends  in  Eiga 
determined  to  build  a  large  church,  and  have  him  in- 
stalled as  pastor.  At  the  same  time  he  was  invited  to 
become  the  Director  of  the  German  school  in  St.  Peters- 
burg. He  declined  both  these  oflPers,  and  left  Riga  in 
1769,  intending  to  make  a  journey  through  Europe.  At 
Strassburg,  an  affection  of  the  eyes  obliged  him  to  give 
up  the  plan,  and  to  remain  in  that  city  for  surgical  treat- 
ment.     Here  he  became  acquainted  with  a  youth  of 


258  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

twenty,  named  Goethe,  and  for  some  months  the  two 
were  inseparable  companions.  Herder,  then  twenty-five 
years  old,  had  already  published  two  works — "Frag- 
ments concerning  Eecent  German  Literature,"  and  "For- 
ests of  Criticism,"  wherein  he  had  planted  himself  on 
the  side  of  Winckelmann  and  Lessing,  taking  a  strong 
position  of  antagonism  to  the  pedantry  and  superficial 
taste  which  those  authors  assailed.  Goethe,  who,  dur- 
ing his  residence  in  Strassburg,  wrote  his  play  of  "Die 
3Iitsc]iuldigen  "  (The  Accomplices)  and  was  brooding  over 
the  plan  of  "  GiJiz  von  BerUcliingen"  profited  greatly  by 
his  intercourse  with  Herder,  and  his  friendship  became 
one  of  the  influences  which  determined  Herder's  later 
life. 

While  at  Strassburg,  Herder  received  an  invitation  to 
become  Court-Preacher  at  Biickeburg,  a  town  in  North- 
ern Germany,  the  capital  of  the  little  principality  of 
Schaumburg-Lij)pe.  He  accepted  the  call,  and  remained 
at  Biickeburg,  in  that  capacity,  for  five  years,  during 
which  time  his  reputation  as  a  theologian  became  so 
generally  established,  that  he  was  offered  the  Professor- 
ship of  Theology  at  Gottingen.  He  hesitated  to  accept 
the  position,  because,  by  order  of  the  King  of  Hanover, 
it  was  burdened  with  certain  conditions  which  were  not 
agreeable.  After  the  negotiations  had  continued  for 
some  months,  a  day  was  fixed  for  Herder's  decision,  and 
on  that  very  day  he  received  an  offer  of  the  place  of 
Court-Preacher  and  member  of  the  Clerical  Consistory 


EL0P8T0CK,  WIELAND  AND  HERDER.  259 

at  Weimar.  He  delayed  no  longer,  but  followed  the  in- 
stinct wliicli  led  so  many  tempest-tost  brains  into  that 
quiet  and  secure  harbor  of  the  German  Muses.  By  the 
end  of  the  year  1776,  Wieland,  Herder  and  Goethe  were 
citizens  of  Weimar.  Here  the  incidents  of  Herder's  life, 
like  those  of  Wieland's,  cease  to  interest  us,  and  we  are 
occupied  only  with  his  literary  development. 

In  1778  he  published  his  "  VolksUeder' :  the  English 
title,  which  would  best  express  the  character  of  the  work, 
is  "Poetry  of  the  Kaces."  It  is  a  careful  selection  from 
the  popular  songs  and  ballads  of  nearly  all  the  languages 
of  Europe,  including  the  Lithuanian,  Livonian,  Servian, 
Danish,  English  and  Modern  Greek.  He  makes  good 
use  of  Percy's  "  Reliques  "  and  the  lyrics  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan dramatists,  and  even  translates  passages  of 
Ossian  into  rhyme.  These  translations,  although  not 
always  very  literal,  are  thoroughly  poetic,  and  may  be 
read  with  satisfaction.  His  object  seems  to  have  been, 
to  direct  the  attention  of  the  German  public  to  the 
natural  poetic  elements  which  exist  in  the  early  civiliza- 
tion of  all  races,  and  thereby  to  counteract  the  tendency 
toward  schools  or  fashions  in  poetry.  He  sought  to 
impress  the  catholicity  of  his  own  taste  upon  the  popu- 
lar mind,  and  was  certainly  successful  in  diverting  much 
of  the  thought  of  his  day  out  of  the  narrow  channels 
in  which  it  had  been  accustomed  to  move.  In  1782  he 
published  his  "Spirit  of  Hebrew  Poetry,"  a  work  which 
has  been  translated  and  extensively  read  in  English. 


260  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

It  is  an  exposition  of  his  views  in  regard  to  the  primitive 
poetry  of  the  race,  in  its  connection  with  religion-  Its 
indirect  tendency,  as  well  as  that  of  his  strictly  theo- 
logical writings,  was  to  inculcate  a  broader,  a  more  in- 
telligent— one  might  almost  say,  a  more  human — reli- 
gious sentiment.  He  took  the  same  ground  as  Lessing, 
concerning  the  superiority  of  the  spirit  to  the  letter, 
but,  as  a  clergyman,  he  was  spared  the  bitter  hostility 
which  the  layman  had  provoked.  Perhaps,  also,  the 
warmth,  the  eloquence  and  the  enthusiasm  which  per- 
vaded all  his  writings  gave  his  ideas  an  easier  accept- 
ance than  they  would  have  found,  if  presented  with  the 
intellectual  bareness  and  keenness  of  Lessing's  style. 

Passing  over  Herder's  essays  and  critical  papers,  I 
will  only  mention  two  other  of  his  more  important  works 
— the  metrical  romance  of  "J9e>'  CiV/,"  the  materials  of 
which  he  collected  from  the  old  Spanish  legends  and 
ballads,  and  his  "  Ideas  toward  a  Philosophy  of  Human 
History,"  which  is  generally  considered  to  be  his  greatest 
work.  "  The  Cid  "  is  written  in  unrhymed  Trochaics — 
a  measure  which  was  first  employed  in  English  by  Long- 
fellow in  his  "  Hiawatha."  Although  it  is  considered  a 
classic  poem  in  German,  and  is  still  printed  in  luxurious 
editions,  it  is  only  enjoyed  by  the  more  cultivated  class 
of  readers.  It  has  something  of  the  mechanical  char- 
acter of  many  of  his  Odes.  He  was  less  a  poet,  in  fact, 
than  a  man  of  sensitive  poetic  taste.  He  had  a  large, 
warm,  receptive  nature,  and  his  inspiration  came  from 


KL0P8T0CK,  WIELAND  AND  HERDER.  261 

the  feelings  rather  than  from  the  imagination.  His 
"Ideas  of  the  Philosophy  of  History  "  are  the  fragments 
of  a  larger  design.  They  anticipate  many  views  which 
have  only  been  taken  up  and  practically  developed  in 
the  literature  of  our  day.  He  considers  man  as  an 
entity,  whose  di£ferent  modes  of  development  in  the 
earlier  races  must  be  referred  to  the  operation  of  the 
same  universal  laws.  He  traces  the  upward  tendency, 
the  preparation  for  a  higher  spiritual  life,  through  all 
the  varied  forms  of  civilization,  and  infers  the  existence 
of  a  sublime  progressive  destiny,  of  which  all  our  past 
history  is  a  part. 

During  the  later  years  of  his  life,  Herder  became 
sensitive  and  irritable,  although  he  still  retained  his 
wonderful  magnetic  power  over  other  men.  His  per- 
formance of  his  official  duties  was  beneficently  felt 
throughout  the  Duchy.  His  authority  in  the  Church, 
his  supervision  of  the  schools,  his  control  of  the  govern- 
ment-charities, were  all  characterized  by  a  wise,  liberal 
and  thoroughly  humane  spirit.  In  1801  he  was  ap- 
pointed President  of  the  Consistory,  the  highest  office 
belonging  to  his  profession,  and  was  ennobled  by  the 
Elector  of  Bavaria.  He  lived  but  two  years  longer  to 
enjoy  these  honors,  dying  in  1803,  in  his  sixtieth  year. 
The  Duke,  Karl  August,  ordered  the  words  to  be  en- 
graved upon  his  tomb — "  Light,  Love,  Life." 

The  great  influence  which  Herder  exercised  during 
his  life  cannot  be  doubted  ;  yet,  in   looking  over  his 


262  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

works  at  the  present  day,  it  is  easy  to  miss  tlie  secret  of 
tliat  influence.  I  confess  tliat,  notwithstanding  the  evi- 
dence of  an  earnest,  brooding  mind,  which  I  find  every- 
where— notwithstanding  the  variety  and  beauty  of  the 
scattered  thoughts — Herder's  works  impress  me  like  a 
collection  of  great,  irregular  fragments.  He  has  less  of 
positive  style  than  any  of  his  contemporaries.  His 
views  seem  to  lack  an  ordered  connection,  and  this  gives 
an  air  of  uncertainty  to  the  operations  of  his  mind. 
Everything  he  does  resembles  a  figure  which  the  sculp- 
tor has  not  wholly  hewn  from  the  marble.  Here  and 
there  an  outline  may  be  clearly  cut,  the  form  and  ex- 
pression may  be  everywhere  indicated,  but  we  are  never- 
theless tantalized  by  the  unchiseled  stone  hiding  as 
much  as  it  reveals.  His  design  is  evidently  greater  than 
his  power  of  execution — like  the  face  of  the  Dawn,  which 
bafiled  Michael  Angelo. 

But  this  very  circumstance,  if  I  rightly  interpret  it, 
gives  a  hint  of  his  true  power — and  it  is  an  agency  which 
we  have  not  yet  considered.  I  mean  the  power  of  sug~ 
gestiveness.  There  is  something  stimulating  and  pro- 
vocative in  ideas  which  fall  short  of  their  full  and  clear 
expression.  The  breadth  of  Herder's  views,  aided  as 
they  were  by  his  remarkable  eloquence,  made  them 
attractive  at  a  time  when  the  mind  of  Germany  was 
throbbing  with  its  highest  vitality,  and  they  must  have 
opened  innumerable  side-paths  to  others.  The  place 
which  he  attempted  to  fill  was  so  large,  that  there  was 


EL0P8T0CK,  WIELAND  A:N'D  HERDER.  263 

necessarily  more  variety  than  thorougliness  in  his  work. 
But  all  that  he  did  helped  to  widen  the  intellectual 
horizon :  his  spirit  was  never  otherwise  than  liberal, 
tolerant  and  pervaded  with  the  noblest  sympathies. 
Neither  his  philological  learning,  nor  his  philosophy, 
would  now  be  considered  remarkable,  but,  as  one  of  his 
critics  truly  says,  they  were  exactly  adequate  to  his 
needs  and  the  needs  of  his  time. 

I  think,  therefore,  that  we  shall  be  correct  in  desig- 
nating Herder  as  a  procreative,  rather  than  a  creative 
power  in  German  literature — that  is,  that  his  suggestive, 
awakening  and  stimulating  influence  on  other  minds 
was  his  chief  merit.  The  value  of  his  writings  is  thus 
not  affected  by  their  want  of  artistic  completeness, — 
nor  is  it  merely  a  temporary  value.  His  ideas  still  re- 
tain their  fructifying  character,  because  the  aspiration 
which  underlies  them  is  always  lofty  and  sincere. 

Goethe,  speaking  to  Eckermann,  in  the  year  1824, 
thus  expressed  himself  concerning  Klopstock  and  Her- 
der :  "  Had  it  not  been  for  these  powerful  forerunners, 
our  literature  could  not  have  become  what  it  now  is. 
When  they  came,  they  were  far  in  advance  of  their  time, 
and  they  equally  drew  it  after  them ;  but  now  the  age 
has  distanced  them,  and  notwithstanding  they  were 
once  so  necessary  and  important,  they  have  ceased  to 
be  vital  forces.  A  young  man  who  should  now-a-days 
draw  his  culture  from  Klopstock  and  Herder,  would  fall 
to  the  rear." 


264  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Goethe  ascribed  the  unusual  culture  of  the  middle 
classes,  which  had  been  developed  througout  Germany 
during  the  previous  fifty  years,  more  to  Wieland  and 
Herder,  than  to  Lessing.  "  Lessiug,"  he  said,  "  was 
the  highest  intelligence,  and  only  an  equal  intelligence 
could  thoroughly  be  taught  by  him.  He  was  dangerous 
to  half-capacities.  To  Wieland,"  he  added,  "  all  the 
higher  cultivation  of  Germany  owes  its  st^de.  This 
class  learned  a  great  deal  from  him,  not  the  least  of 
which  was  the  faculty  of  appropriate  expression." 

In  these  remarks,  Goathe  refers  principally  to  Les- 
sing's  critical  works,  and  he  also  ignores  both  his  own 
and  Schiller's  influence  on  the  national  culture.  Never- 
theless, the  distinction  which  he  draws  is  at  bottom 
correct.  Taking  Lessing,  Klopstock,  Wieland  and  Her- 
der, as  the  representative  forerunners  and  reformers, 
who  first  created  the  splendid  age  of  literature  w^hich 
they  then  adorned,  we  may  thus  apportion  their  sep- 
arate shares  in  the  work.  Lessing,  unquestionably 
first,  both  in  intellect  and  character,  was  a  strong  inde- 
pendent power,  operating  chiefly  on  the  best  thinkers 
and  writers  of  his  day.  Klopstock,  by  his  use  of  the 
religious  element,  won  the  people  to  his  side,  employed 
his  influence  to  implant  among  them  a  lofty  national 
sentiment,  and  gave  eloquence,  form  and  expression  to 
the  language.  Wieland,  the  literary  Epicurean,  giving 
himself  up  to  the  shifting  play  of  his  moods  and  sensa- 
tions,  imparted  lightness,  grace    and  elegance  to  the 


KL0P8T0CK,  WIELAND  AND  HERDEB.  265 

language,  adding  sparkle  to  strength  and  melody  to 
correctness  of  form.  Herder,  finally,  broke  down  the 
narrower  limits  of  thought,  led  the  aspirations  of  men 
back  to  their  primitive  sources,  placed  before  them  the 
universal  and  permanent  in  literature,  rather  than  the 
national  and  temporary,  and  deejoened  and  widened 
in  every  way  the  general  culture,  through  the  fruitful 
suggestiveness  of  his  ideas.  The  more  we  contemplate 
the  lives  and  the  labors  of  these  four  authors,  the  more 
clearly  we  feel  the  necessity  of  each.  The  development 
of  the  German  language  had  been  long  delayed,  but 
these  men,  working  simultaneously,  raised  it  rapidly  to 
an  equal  power  and  dignity  among  the  other  modern 
tongues  of  Europe. 

We  now  turn  from  the  period  of  struggle  to  that  of 
creative  repose.  The  battle  has  been  fought :  the 
ground  has  been  won:  we  sliall  henceforth  breathe  a 
serener  air,  and  feel  the  presence  of  a  purer  and  grander 
inspiration. 
12 


IX. 

SCHILLER. 

Taking  tlie  German  authors  in  the  order  of  tlieir  pro- 
gressive develoj^ment,  we  are  next  led  to  Schiller,  who, 
although  he  was  born  ten  years  later  than  Goethe,  died 
twenty-seven  years  earlier.  His  life  is  thus  included 
within  that  of  Goethe,  but  only  as  the  orbit  of  Yenus  is 
included  within  that  of  the  Earth  :  the  courses  may  be 
nearly  parallel,  but  are  never  identical. 

In  Schiller's  case,  I  have  the  advantage  of  dealing 
with  material,  much  of  which  is  tolerably  familiar  to 
English  readers.  The  biography  and  essays  of  Carlyle, 
and  the  translations  of  Coleridge,  Bulwer,  Bowring 
and  others,  have  gradually  created  an  impression,  in 
England  and  America,  of  Schiller's  character  and  genius 
— an  impression  which  is  just  in  outline,  if  somewhat 
vague  in  certain  respects.  The  more  delicate  lights  and 
shades,  which  are  necessary  to  complete  the  picture, 
can  be  given  only  by  the  intimate  and  sympathetic  study 
which  the  poet  inspires  in  those  who  have  made  his 
acquaintance.  Like  Burns  and  Byron,  he  creates  a  per- 
sonal interest  in  the  reader,  in  the  light  of  which  his 
works   are   almost   inevitably  viewed.     An  indefinable 

266 


SCHILLER.  267 

magnetism  clings  to  his  name,  and  accompanies  it  all 
over  the  world.  In  vain  Richter  speaks  of  "  the  stony 
Schiller,  from  whom  strangers  spring  back,  as  from  a 
precipice  " — in  vain  Mr.  Crabb  Robinson  describes  him 
as  unsocial,  and  with  a  wdld  expression  of  face — few 
poets  have  ever  excited  more  enthusiasm,  sympathy, 
and  love  in  the  human  race,  than  Friedrich  Schiller. 
Even  when  we  know  his  life,  and  have  analyzed  his 
w'orks,  the  problem  is  not  entirely  solved.  Mankind 
seems  sometimes  to  give  way,  like  an  individual,  to  an 
impulse  of  unreasoning  affection,  and  the  fortunate  poet 
upon  whom  it  falls  is  sure  of  a  beautiful  immortality. 

Schiller  was  born  on  the  10th  of  November,  1759,  in 
the  little  town  of  Marbach,  in  Wiirtemberg.  His  father 
w^as  a  military  surgeon,  who  had  distinguished  himself 
in  campaigns  in  the  Netherlands  and  Bohemia,  where  he 
also  served  as  an  officer,  and  attained  the  rank  of  Cap- 
tain. He  was  an  instance,  very  rare  in  those  days,  of 
a  man  who  tried,  in  middle  age,  to  make  up  for  the  defi- 
ciencies of  his  early  education,  and  whatever  capacity 
Schiller  may  have  received  by  inheritance  came  from 
him,  and  not  from  the  mother.  Noted,  as  a  child,  for 
his  spiritual  and  imaginative  nature,  Schiller's  early 
ambition  was  to  become  a  clergyman;  but  the  Duke 
Karl  of  Wiirtemberg  insisted,  against  the  wish  of  the 
boy's  parents,  on  having  him  educated  in  a  new  school 
which  he  had  just  founded  in  Stuttgart. 

At  the  ase  of  fourteen  Schiller  entered  this  school, 


268  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

■wliich  was  conducted  according  to  the  strictest  military 
ideas.  Tlie  pupils  were  considered  as  so  many  machines, 
to  be  mechanically  developed :  not  the  slightest  regard 
was  paid  to  natural  differences  of  capacity :  their  studies, 
their  performances,  and  even  their  recreation,  were  regu- 
lated by  an  inflexible  system.  Unable  to  escape  his 
fate,  Schiller  at  first  selected  jurisprudence,  but  soon 
changed  it  for  medicine,  in  which  branch  he  was  gradu- 
ated, in  his  twenty-first  year.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
the  severe  and  soulless  discipline  to  which  he  was  sub- 
jected for  seven  years  was  one  cause  of  the  fierce,  reck- 
less, rebellious  spirit  which  pervades  his  earliest  works. 
The  religious  aspiration  having  been  checked,  all  the 
strength  and  passion  of  his  nature  turned  to  poetry. 
"The  Messiah"  and  the  Odes  of  Klopstock,  and  Goethe's 
drama  of  "  G'Otz  von  Berlichingen"  made  the  most  pow- 
erful impression  upon  his  mind,  and  the  circumstance 
that  all  such  reading  was  prohibited,  only  spurred  him 
the  more  to  enjoy  it  by  stealth.  Among  the  authors 
with  whom  he  became  acquainted  was  Shakespeare, 
whose  power  he  felt  without  clearly  comprehending  it. 
His  own  ambition  was  stimulated  by  his  intense  enjoy- 
ment of  poetry,  and  he  attempted  both  an  epic  and  a 
tragedy  before  his  eighteenth  year.  These  boyish  works 
he  threw  into  the  fire,  and  then  commenced  his  play  of 
"Z>ie  Bduher"  (The  Bobbers),  which  was  completed  about 
the  time  of  his  graduation  as  a  military  surgeon.  After 
being  appointed  to  a  regiment  in  Stuttgart,  and  feeling 


SCHILLER.  269 

tliat  the  subordinate  period  of  his  life  was  ended,  he 
published  "  The  Robbers"  in  1781,  at  his  own  expense,  no 
publisher  daring  to  run  the  risk.  The  impression  which 
it  produced  was  as  immediate  and  powerful  as  that  of 
Byron's  "  Childe  Harold  "^ — he  woke  up  one  morning 
and  found  himself  famous.  Its  wild  and  passionate 
arraignment  of  Society,  its  daring  blending  of  magnanim- 
ity, courage  and  crime  in  the  same  character,  and  the 
stormy,  imj^etuous  action  wdiicli  sweeps  through  it  from 
beginning  to  end,  startled  not  only  Germany  but  all 
Europe.  The  popular  doctrines  which  preceded  the 
French  Revolution,  now  only  nine  years  off,  prejoared 
the  way  for  it :  the  "  Storm  and  Stress  "  period  of  Ger- 
man literature,  exultant  over  the  overthrow  of  the  old 
dynasties  in  letters,  hailed  it  with  cries  of  welcome,  and 
in  the  chaotic  excitement  and  ferment  of  the  time  its 
flagrant  violations  of  truth  and  taste  were  overlooked. 
Only  its  defiant  power  and  freedom  were  felt  and  cele- 
brated. Even  in  reading  "  The  Robbers  "  now,  we  are 
forced  to  acknowledge  these  qualities,  although  we  are 
both  amused  and  shocked  at  its  extravagance.  Mucli  of 
the  play  cannot  be  better  characterized  than  by  our 
slang  American  word — "  highfalutin,"  No  one  saw  this 
more  clearly,  or  condemned  it  more  emphaticall}'  than 
Schiller  himself,  in  later  years.  "  My  great  mistake," 
he  once  said,  "  was  in  attempting  to  rej)resent  men  two 
years  before  I  really  knew  a  single  man." 

The  hostility  which  "The  Robbers"  provoked  was 


270  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

fully  as  intense  as  tlie  praise.  The  Conservative  senti- 
ment of  Germany  rose  in  arms  against  it.  The  Duke 
sent  for  Schiller  and  endeavored  to  exact  a  pledge  from 
him  that  he  would  publish  nothing  further  without  first 
submitting  it  to  him,  the  Duke.  To  a  man  of  Schiller's 
temperament,  this  was  impossible.  Moreover,  he  had 
seen  the  unfortunate  poet  Schubart,  in  the  fortress  of 
Hohenasperg,  where  he  was  confined  ten  years  for  hav- 
ing offended  his  Kuler  by  the  liberal  tone  of  his  poetry, 
and  could  easily  guess  how  much  freedom  the  Duke's 
censorship  would  allow  him.  At  the  same  time  Baron 
Dalberg,  Director  of  the  theatre  at  Mannheim,  requested 
him  to  adapt  "  The  Kobbers  "  for  representation  on  the 
stage.  When  the  first  performance  was  to  take  place, 
Schiller,  unable  to  obtain  leave  of  absence,  went  to  Mann- 
heim without  it,  and  on  his  return  was  arrested  and  im- 
prisoned. His  insubordination  gave  great  offence  to  the 
Duke,  and  it  seems  probable  that  severer  measures  were 
threatened.  But  one  alternative  was  left  to  Schiller, 
and  he  adopted  it.  In  1782,  he  left  Stuttgart  in  dis- 
guise, and  under  an  assumed  name,  went  first  to  Mann- 
heim, and  then  to  the  estate  of  a  friend  near  Meiningen, 
where  he  remained  in  complete  seclusion  for  almost  a 
year.  During  this  time  he  completed  his  plays  of 
^'Fiesco  "  and  "  Kahale  unci  Liebe  "  (Intrigue  and  Love), 
which  were  both  successful  on  the  stage.  It  is  easy 
to  detect  their  faults  of  construction  and  their  over- 
charged sentiment,  but  in  both  the  vital  warmth  and 


SCHILLER.  271 

the  fire  of  the  author's  nature  make  themselves 
felt.  The  general  public,  who  are  never  critical, 
found  a  new  sense  of  enjoyment  in  Schiller's  plays, 
and  accepted  him  in  spite  of  the  critics.  Towards 
the  close  of  1783,  he  was  summoned  to  Mannheim,  where 
Baron  Dalberg  offered  him  the  post  of  Dramatic  Poet, 
connected  with  the  theatrical  management.  He  re- 
mained there  eighteen  months,  and  during  this  time 
started  the  "  Ehenish  Thalia  " — a  literary  periodical 
which  treated  especially  of  the  drama.  Various  causes, 
which  need  not  now  be  explained,  combined  to  make  his 
position  disagreeable,  and  in  March,  1785,  he  took  up 
his  residence  in  Leipzig.  The  principal  cause  of  this 
change  was  a  circumstance  which  many  persons  would 
brand  as  "  sentimental,"  but  which  seems  to  me,  in  the 
noblest  sense,  human.  Some  months  j)revious,  he  had 
received  a  letter  from  Leipzig,  signed  by  four  unknown 
persons,  and  accompanied  by  their  miniature  portraits. 
These  persons  were  Huber  and  Korner,  both  of  whom 
became  afterwards  distinguished  in  letters,  and  Minna 
and  Doris  Stock,  their  betrothed  brides.  The  letter 
which  they  wrote  exhibited  so  much  refined  and  genial 
appreciation  of  Schiller's  genius — so  much  affectionate 
interest  in  his  fortunes — that,  to  Schiller's  eager  and 
impulsive  nature,  it  offered  him  an  escape  from  tlie 
annoyances  which  attended  his  position  at  Mannheim. 
Korner  and  Huber  received  him  like  brothers.  All 
they  had — money,  time,  counsel,  help, — he  was  free  to 


272  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

claim  :  the  "  sentiments  "  of  tlieir  letter  to  tlie  unknown 
poet  were  justified  by  tlie  jn-actical  results. 

Schiller's  critics  and  biographers  seem  to  have  united 
in  dividing  his  literary  life  into  three  distinct  periods, 
the  first  of  which  closes  with  his  emigration  from  Mann- 
heim to  Leipzig.  We  might  call  this  the  period  of 
Assertion,  and  designate  the  others  which  followed  as 
the  periods  of  Development  and  Achievement.  Up  to 
this  time,  in  fact,  we  find  the  evidence  of  powers,  neither 
harmonious  nor  intelligent  as  yet,  forcing  their  way  to 
the  light :  we  find  the  spirit  of  other  poets  stimulating 
him  to  warmer  and  more  passionate  expression  than 
they  would  have  dared :  all  is  vivid,  luxuriant,  teeming 
with  life,  and  permeated  with  the  kindred  forces  of 
hope  and  desire.  It  was  this  intense  vitality,  this  out- 
pouring of  a  nature  which  pressed  upward  and  onward 
with  all  its  energies,  which  accounts  for  Schiller's  im- 
mediate jDopularity.  Something  similar  in  English  lit- 
erature was  the  reception  given  to  Bailey's  "  Festus " 
and  Alexander  Smith's  "  Life  Drama  " — but  they  were 
really  the  end  of  their  achievement,  whereas  this  was  the 
beginning  of  Schiller's.  His  early  plays  and  poems  re- 
flect the  roused  and  restless  spirit  of  the  times, — the  uni- 
versal yearning  for  light  and  liberty.  The  beginning 
of  his  literary  activity  corresponds  exactly  with  the  date 
of  Lessing's  death.  The  field  was  therefore  cleared  for 
him,  and  we  should  not  marvel  if  something  of  the  wild- 
ness  and  crudity  of  a  first  settler  stamps  his  performance. 


SCHILLER. 


273 


In  tlie  lyrics  belonging  to  the  First  Period,  tlie  glow 
and  warmth  which,  in  his  later  poems,  fuse  the  subject 
and  sentiment  together,  are  already  apparent,  although 
the  fusion  is  less  perfect.  They  are  mostly  irregular  in 
form  and  incomj)lete  in  thought.  The  poems  addressed 
to  "Laura"  correspond  to  Tennyson's  youthful  lyrics 
to  "Eleanore,"  "Adeline"  and  other  girlish  names, 
with  the  difference  that  the  sentiment  is  German  and 
not  English.  As  an  example  I  will  quote  two  brief 
lyrics,  "Tartarus''  and  " Elysium"  (of  the  latter  only 
the  first  half) : 


GKUPPE  AUS  DEM  TARTAEUS. 


A   GEOTJP  rN   TAETARU8. 


Horcli — wie   Munneln  des    em- 
porten  Meeres, 
Wie    durcli     liohler     Felsen 
Becken  weint  ein  Bacli, 
Stohnt    dort     dumpfigtief     ein 
schweres,  leeres, 
Qualerpresstes  Ach  ! 


Hark  !   as  noises  of  the  hoarse, 
aroused  sea, 
As    through    hollow-throated 
rocks  a  streamlet's  moan, 
Sounds  helow  there,  wearily  and 
endlessly, 
A  torture-burdened  groan  ! 


Schmerz  verzerret 
Ihr  Gesicht ;  Verzweiflung  sperret 
Thren  Eachen  fluchend  auf. 

Hohl  sind  ihre  Augen,  ilire  Blicke 
Spahen  bang   nach  des   Cocytus 

Briicke, 
Folgen  thriihnend  seinem  Trau- 

erlauf. 


Faces  wearing 
Pain  alone,  in  wild  despairing. 
Curse  through  jaws  that  open 
wide ; 
And  with  haggard  eyes  forever 
Gaze  upon  the  bridge  of  Hell's 
black  river. 
Weeping,  gaze  upon  its  sullen 
tide. 


Fragen  sich  einander  iingstlich  Ask  each  other,  then,  in  fearful 

leise,  whispers, 

Ob  noch  niclit  Vollendung  sei?  If  not  soon  the  end  shall  be? 

12'<- 


274 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Ewigkeit  schwingt  iiber  ilincn  The  End? — the  scythe  of  Time 

Kreise,  is  broken  ; 

Bricht  die  Sense  des  Saturns  Over  them  revolves  Eternity  ! 
entzwei. 


Now  let  US  turn  to  tlie  brightness  and  music  of  his 
picture  of 


elysium:. 
Voriiber  die  stohnende  Klage  I 

Elysiums  Freudengelage 

Ersaufen  jegliches  Ach — 

Elysiums  Leben 

Ewige  Wonne,  ewiges  Schwe- 

ben, 
Durch  lachende  Fluren  ein  flo- 

tender  Bach. 


Gone  is   the  wail  and  the   tor- 
ture 1 
Elysium's  banquets  of  rapture 

Chase    every    shadow   of 
woe  I 
Elysium,  seeing, 
Endless  the  bliss  and  end- 
less the  being, 
As  musical  brooks  through  the 
meadows  that  flow  ! 


Jugendlich  milde 
Beschwebt  die  Gefilde 
Ewiger  Mai ; 
Die  Stunden  entfliehen  in  golde- 

nen  Traumen, 
Die  Seele  schwillt  aus  in  uneud- 
lichen  Riiumen, 
Wahrheit    reisst   hier  den 
Schleier  entzwei. 


May  is  eternal, 
Over  the  vernal 

Landscapes  of  youth  : 
The  Hours  bring  golden  dreams 

in  their  races, 
The  soul  is  expanded  through 
infinite  spaces, 
The  veil  is  torn  from  the  vis- 
age of  Truth  ! 


Unendliche  Freude 
Durchwallet  das  Herz, 

Hier  mangelt  der  Name  dem 
trauernden  Leide  ; 

Sanfter  Entziicken  nur  heisset 
hier  Schmerz. 


Here  never  a  morrow 
The  heart's  full   rapture 
can  blight ; 
Even  a  name  is  wanting  to  Sor- 
row, 
And  Pain  is  only  a  gentler  de- 
light. 


SCHILLEB.  275 

A  comparison  of  these  early  poems  of  Scliiller  with 
those  of  Klopstock,  at  his  best  period,  will  show  how 
much  the  language  has  already  gained  in  fire  and  free- 
dom of  movement.  A  new  soul  has  entered  into  and 
taken  possession  of  it,  and  we  shall  find  that  the  promise 
of  loftier  development  was  not  left  unfulfilled. 

Korner  married  soon  after  Schiller's  arrival  in  Leip- 
zig, and  then  settled  in  Dresden,  whither  Schiller  fol- 
lowed him.  For  nearly  two  years  Korner's  house  was 
his  home.  The  play  of  "  Don  Carhs,"  which  he  had 
begun  to  write  in  Mannheim,  was  there  re-written  and 
completed.  It  was  a  great  advance  upon  his  former 
works,  although  far  below  what  he  afterwards  achieved. 
Few  dramatic  poems  are  more  attractive  to  young  men, 
and,  as  Goethe  says,  it  will  always  be  read,  because 
there  will  always  be  young  men.  In  the  character  of 
Don  Carlos  we  detect  a  great  deal  of  Schiller's  own 
aspiration  and  impatience  of  obstacles,  while  the  Mar- 
quis Posa  is  at  the  same  time  a  noble  ideal  and  an 
impossible  man.  The  great  attraction  of  the  play  is  its 
sustained  and  impassioned  eloquence. 

Before  its  publication,  Schiller's  circumstances  obliged 
him  to  cast  about  for  some  literary  labor  which  might 
support  him.  He  finally  decided  to  write  an  historical 
work,  selecting  the  Revolt  of  the  Netherlands  for  his 
theme.  His  preliminary  studies  were  not  very  thorough, 
nor  was  the  history  ever  completed,  but  its  lively  and 
picturesque  narrative  style  gave  it  a  temporary  success. 


276  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

He  formed  various  other  plans  of  labor,  few  of  which 
were  carried  out— probably  because  he  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  endure  much  drudgery  of  the  kind  ;  and  for 
several  years  his  life  was  burdened  with  pecuniary  em- 
barrassments. In  1787  he  went  to  Weimar  for  the  first 
time,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  Wieland  and  Her- 
der. Goethe  was  then  absent  in  Italy.  The  most 
important  result  of  this  visit,  however,  was  his  meeting 
in  Rudolstadt  with  his  future  wife,  Charlotte  von  Lenge- 
feld.  It  was  the  cause  of  his  returning  to  Eudolstadt 
the  following  summer,  and  there,  in  the  garden  of  the 
Lengefeld  family,  he  first  met  Goethe.  The  interview 
has  a  special  interest,  from  the  fact  that  these  two 
poets,  destined  to  be  friends  and  co-laborers,  mu- 
tually repelled  each  other.  Schiller  wrote  of  Goethe 
to  Komer :  "  His  whole  being  is,  from  its  origin,  con- 
structed differently  from  mine  ;  his  world  is  not  my 
world ;  our  modes  of  conceiving  things  are  essentially 
different,  and  with  such  a  combination  there  can  be  no 
substantial  intimacy  between  us."  Nevertheless,  it  was 
through  Goethe's  influence  that  Schiller,  early  in  1789, 
was  offered  the  place  of  Professor  of  History  at  the 
University  of  Jena.  Schiller  at  first  hesitated  about 
accepting  the  offer,  on  account  of  his  want  both  of 
preparation  and  of  natural  fitness,  but  he  was  tired  of 
his  homeless  life,  he  craved  some  fixed  means  of  sup- 
port, and  he  saw  in  the  appointment  the  first  step 
towards  marriage.     In  1858,  when  the  three-hundredth 


SCHILLER.  277 

anniversary  of  the  University  of  Jena  was  celebrated,  I 
met  there  with  a  graduate,  ninety  years  old,  who  had 
heard  Schiller's  first  historical  lecture,  in  1789.  The 
account  he  gave  of  the  rush  of  the  younger  students  to 
hear  him,  and  the  immediate  popularity  of  the  new 
professor,  explained  the  modest  hints  of  his  success 
which  we  find  in  Schiller's  letters  to  Korner.  He  was 
so  new  to  the  subject  that  he  was  frequently  obliged  to 
learn  one  day  what  he  taught  the  next,  but  this  very 
circumstance  added  to  the  spirit  and  freshness  of  his 
lectures.  His  productive  activity  re-commenced  with 
this  change  in  his  fortunes.  In  February,  1790,  he 
married,  and  the  unrest  of  his  life  ceased ;  but  for  sev- 
eral years  thereafter  he  undertook  no  important  work 
except  the  "  History  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War,"  which 
was  completed  in  1793.  Carlyle  speaks  of  this  work  as 
the  best  piece  of  historical  writing  which,  up  to  that 
time,  had  appeared  in  Germany. 

The  causes  of  this  apparent  inactivity — that  is,  inac- 
tivity, only  as  contrasted  with  his  usual  productive 
industry — were  two-fold.  In  the  year  1791  he  was 
attacked  with  an  inflammation  of  the  lungs  which 
brought  him  to  the  verge  of  the  grave,  and  left  lasting 
consequences  behind  it.  Meyer,  the  artist,  who  first 
met  Schiller  in  that  year,  states  that  his  appearance 
was  that  of  a  man  stricken  with  death.  Goethe  was 
with  Meyer,  and  said,  after  Schiller  had  j^assed  :  "  there 
are  not  more  than  fourteen  days  of  life  in  him."     But 


278  GEBMAN  LITERATURE. 

there  proved  to  be  fourteen  years,  and  fourteen  years 
of  such  earnest,  absorbing,  unremitting  labor,  such 
great  and  progressive  achievement,  as  can  be  found  in 
the  life  of  no  other  poet  who  ever  lived.  Although 
Schiller  did  not  attain  the  highest,  he  pressed  towards 
the  highest  with  an  energy  so  intense  that  it  seems 
almost  tragic.  His  illness  was  a  cloud  which  was 
speedily  silvered  with  the  light  of  the  noblest  sym- 
pathy. The  news  of  his  death  had  gone  forth,  and  a 
company  of  his  unknown  friends  in  Copenhagen  insti- 
tuted a  solemn  service  in  honor  of  his  name.  Among 
them  were  the  Prince  of  Augustenburg,  Count  Schim- 
melmann,  and  the  Danish  poet  Baggesen.  They  met  on 
the  shore  of  the  Baltic,  pronounced  an  oration  and 
chanted  a  dirge,  when  the  news  of  Schiller's  recovery 
reached  them  while  they  were  still  assembled.  A  joy- 
ous song  succeeded  the  mourning  services,  and  the  two 
noblemen  pledged  themselves  to  offer  the  poet  one 
thousand  thalers  annually  for  three  years,  that  he 
might  rest  and  recover  his  strength.  Thus,  as  his  early 
exile  brought  him  Korner's  friendship  and  help,  the 
illness,  which  disabled  him  for  a  time,  gave  him  a  new 
experience  of  human  generosity.  No  man  can  attract 
such  sympathy  unless  he  possesses  qualities  of  charac- 
ter whix3h  justify  it.  We  are  reminded  of  Lowell's 
lines : 

"  Be  noble,  and  the  nobleness  that  lies 
In  other  men,  sleeping  but  never  dead. 
Will  rise  in  majesty  to  meet  thine  own." 


SCHILLER.  279 

However,  it  was  not  alone  this  illness  which  inter- 
fered with  Schiller's  literary  activity.  I  have  called  his 
Second  Period  that  of  Development,  but  it  was  not,  there- 
fore, a  period  of  sound  and  harmonious  growth.  Before 
accepting  the  Professorship  at  Jena,  his  wandering, 
irregular  life  had  given  him  little  opportunity  for  quiet 
study ;  the  strongly  subjective  habit  of  mind,  which 
caused  him  to  throw  something  of  his  own  nature  into 
all  the  characters  of  his  dramas,  had  also  interfered 
with  his  true  education,  and  the  necessity  which  forced 
him  to  take  up  collateral  studies  was  a  piece  of  good 
fortune  in  the  end,  although  he  could  not  feel  it  so  at 
the  time.  He  was  nearly  thirty  years  old  before  he 
could  aj)preciate  the  objective  character  of  Shakespeare's 
genius.  When,  at  last,  his  eyes  were  opened,  he  looked 
upon  himself  and  recognized  his  own  deficiencies.  After 
Shakespeare  he  studied  Homer  and  the  Greek  drama- 
tists, and  was  then  led,  through  his  association  with  the 
learned  society  of  Jena,  into  the  misty  fields  of  philo- 
sophical speculation.  The  latter,  no  doubt,  misled  him 
as  positively  as  the  study  of  the  great  poets  had  guided 
him  towards  the  right  path.  He  became  a  zealous  dis- 
ciple of  Kant,  and  the  few  poems  which  he  wrote  dur- 
ing this  period  show  to  what  an  extent  his  mind  was 
given  to  theorizing.  His  poem  of  "  Die  KilnsUer " 
(The  Artists),  which  he  considered  at  the  time  his 
best  production,  is  chiefly  valual)le  to  us  now  as  an 
example    of    poetry    crushed    by     philosophy.      His 


280  OEBMAN  LITERATUEE. 

'*  Esthetic  Letters "  and  liis  "  Essay  on  Naive  and 
Sentimental  Poetry,"  written  during  those  years,  con- 
tain many  admirable  passages,  but  we  cannot  lielp 
feeling  that  they  interfered  with  his  creative  power. 
It  was  a  period  of  transition  which  unsettled  the  ope- 
rations of  his  mind,  and  sometimes  prevented  him 
from  seeing  clearly.  "  The  Artist,"  he  wrote,  in  a  pas- 
sage which  has  been  much  admired,  "the  Artist,  it  is 
true,  is  the  son  of  his  time ;  but  woe  to  him  if  he  is  its 
pupil,  or  even  its  favorite  !  Let  some  beneficent  divinity 
snatch  him,  when  a  suckling,  from  the  breast  of  his 
mother,  and  nurse  him  with  the  milk  of  a  better  time  ; 
that  he  may  ripen  to  his  full  stature  beneath  a  distant 
Grecian  sky.  And  having  grown  to  manhood,  let  him 
return,  a  foreign  shape,  into  his  century ;  not,  however, 
to  delight  it  by  his  presence,  but  dreadful,  like  the  son 
of  Agamemnon,  to  purify  it !  "  In  this  passage  Schiller 
expresses  his  own  temporary  ambition,  but  not  his  true 
place  in  literature.  The  ideal  he  represents  is  noble, 
but  it  is  partly  false.  The  Artist  cannot  grow  to  his 
full  stature  under  a  Grecian  sky :  he  must  not  be 
"  a  foreign  shape  "  in  his  century  :  he  must  place  his 
"  better  time "  not  in  the  Past,  but  in  the  Future, 
and  make  himself  its  forerunner.  Schiller  seems  to 
have  had  an  instinct  of  his  unsettled  state.  Although 
he  conceived  the  plan  of  "  JVallenstein"  while  writing 
his  "  History  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War,"  he  hesitated 
for  a  long  time  before  beginning  to  write,  and,  in  his 
letters  to  Korner,  expresses  doubts  of  his  final  success. 


SCHILLER.  281 

The  one  poem  whicli  permanently  marks  this  phase 
of  Schiller's  life,  is  "Die  GOtter  GriecJienlands"  (The 
Gods  of  Greece) — one  of  the  iinest  lyrics  in  the  lan- 
guage. The  fact  that  we  can  detect  the  secret  of  its 
inspiration  does  not  diminish  the  charm  which  seduces 
us  to  read  and  re-read  it,  until  its  impassioned,  resonant 
stanzas  are  fixed  in  the  memory.  Although  it  is  merely 
a  lament  for  the  lost  age  of  gods  and  god-like  men — a 
disparagement  of  the  Present,  exalting  a  Past  so  dis- 
tant that  it  becomes  ideal — the  poem  appeals  to  a 
universal  sentiment,  and  expresses  a  feeling  common 
to  all  educated  men,  at  one  period  of  their  lives.  Most 
poets  have  dropped  "melodious  tears"  upon  the  crown- 
ing civilization  of  Greece,  but  none  with  such  mingled 
fire  and  sweetness  as  Schiller.  At  the  time  when  this 
poem  appeared,  the  Counts  Stolberg,  who  represented 
a  rigidly  sectarian  clique  in  German  literature,  had 
assumed  a  position  of  hostility  to  the  Weimar  authors, 
and  they  bitterly  assailed  the  "  Gods  of  Greece  "  on  the 
plea  that  it  was  an  attack  upon  Christianity !  This  is 
the  usual  subterfuge  of  narrow  natures :  it  is  so  much 
easier  to  awaken  religious  prejudices  against  an  author, 
than  to  meet  him  with  fair  and  intelligent  criticism. 
The  Stolbergs  made  a  little  noise  for  a  time,  but  their 
malignity  was  as  futile  as  that  of  the  publisher,  Nicolai, 
in  Berlin,  who  coolly  declared  that  he  would  soon  sup- 
press Goethe ! 

I  quote  a  few  stanzas  of  the  "Gods  of  Greece :" 


282  GERMAN  LITEBATURE. 

Da  ihr  nocli  die  schune  Welt  While  ye  governed  yet  the  clieer- 

regieret,  ful  nations, — 

An  der  Freude  leichtem  Gangel-  While  the  leading-strings  in 

band  Joy's  light  hand 

Selige  Geschlechter  noch  gef iih-  Led  the  fair,  the  happy  genera- 
ret,  tions, — 

Schone  Wesen  aus  dem  Fabel-  Beings  beautiful,  from  Fable- 
land  !  land  ! 

Ach,  da  euer  Wonnedienst  noch  While  they  came,  your  blissful 

gliinzte,  rites  to  render, 

Wie  ganz  anders,  anders  war  es  Ah,   how  different   was   then 

da  !  the  day. 

Da  man  deine  Tempel  noch  be-  \Mien  thy  fanes  with  garlands 

krlinzte,  shone  in  splendor, 

Venus  Amathusia  !  Venus  Amathusia  ! 

Da    der    Dichtuug    zauberische  Then    of    Poesy    the    veil     en- 

Hiille  chanted 

Sich  noch  lieblich  um  die  Wahr-  Sweetly  o'er  the  form  of  Truth 

heit  wand —  was  thrown  : 

Durch   die   Schopfung  floss   da  To    Creation     fullest    life    was 

Lebeusfiille  granted, 

Und  was   nie   empfinden   wird.  And  from  soulless  things  the 

empfand.  spirit  shone. 

An    der    Liebe    Busen    sie    zu  Nature,  then,  ennobled,  elevated, 

driicken. 

Gab  man  hohern  Adel  der  Natur,  To  the  heart  of  human  love 

was  prest ; 

Alles    wies    den    eingeweihten  All   things,    to   the  vision   con- 

Blicken,  secrated, 

Alles  eines  Gottes  Spur.  All  things,  then,  a  God  con- 
fessed I 

Wo  jetzt  nur,  wie  nnsre  Weisen  Where,  as  now  our  sages  have 

sagen,  decided, 

Seelenlos     ein     Feuerball     sich  Soulless  whirls  a  ball  of  fire 

dreht,  on  high, 

Lenkte  damals   seinen   goldnen  Helios,  then,  his  golden  chariot 

Wagen  guided 

Helios  in  stiller  Majestiit.  Through  the  silent  spaces  of 

the  sky. 


8CEILLEB.  283 

Diese  HCheu  f  iillten  Oreaden,  Misty  Oreads  dwelt  on  yonder 

mountains  ; 

Eine  Dryas  lebt'  in  jenem  Baum,  In  this  tree  the  Dryad  made 

her  home  ; 

Aus  den  Urnen   lieblicher   Na-  Where  the  Naiads  held  the  urns 

jaden  of  fountains 

Sprang     der      Strome      Silber-  Sprang   the   stream  in   silver 

schaum.  foam. 

Jener  Lorbeer  wand  sich   einst  Yonder  laurel  once  was  Daphne 

um  Hiilfe,  flying  ; 

Tantal's  Tochter  schweigt  in  die-  Yonder   stone   did    Niobe   re- 

sem  Stein,  strain  : 

Syrinx   Klage   tout'   aus  jenem  From  these  rushes  Syrinx  once 

Schilfe,  was  crying, 

Philomela's  Schmerz  aus  diesem  From  this  forest  Philomela's 

Hain.  pain. 

Jener  Bach  empfing   Demeter's  For    her  daughter    Proserpine, 

Ziihre,  the  mighty 

Die    sie    um    Persephonen    ge-  Ceres  wept  beside  the  river's 

weint,  fall  ; 

Und  von  diesem  Hiigel  rief  Cy-  Here,     upon    these    hills,    did 

there —  Aphrodite 

Ach,    umsonst  !     dem    schonen  Vainly  on  Adonis  call. 

Freund. 

Eure  Tempel  lachten  gleich  Pa-  Then   like    palaces    your   fanes 

liisten,  were  builded  : 

Euch  verherrlichte  das  Helden-  You  the  sports  of  heroes  glori- 

spiel  fied. 

An  des  Isthmus  kronenreichen  At  the   Isthmian    games,    with 

Festen,  garlands  gilded, 

Und  die  Wagen  donnerten  zum  When  the  charioteers  in  thun- 

Ziel.  der  ride. 

Schon  geschlungne,  soelenvolle  Breathing  grace,  the  linked  and 

Tilnze  woven  dances 

Kreisteu    um    don    prangenden  Circled  round  your  altars,  high 

Altar  ;  and  fair  ; 

Eure  Schliife   schmiickten   Sie-  On   your   brows   the  wreath   of 

geskrjinze,  victory  glances, — 

Kronen  euer  duftend  Ilaar.  Crowns  on  your  ambrosial  hair. 


284  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Das    Evoe    muntrer    Thyrsus-  Shouts  of  Bachanal  and  joyous 

schwinger                       ,  singer, 

Und  der  Panther  prachtiges  Ge-  And  the  splendid  panthers  of 

spaun  his  car, 

Meldeten   den   grossen    Freude-  Then     announced    the    mighty 

bringer ;  Rapture-bringer, 

Faun  und   Satyr   taumeln    ihm  With  his   Fauns  and   Satyrs, 

voran  !  from  afar  ! 

Um  ihn  springen  rasende   Ma-  Dancing    Maenads     round     his 

naden,  march  delight  us, 

Dire  Tiinze  loben  seinen  Wein,  While  their  dances  celebrate 

his  wines, 

Und  des  Wirthes  braune  Wan-  And   the  brown   cheeks  of  the 

gen  laden  host  invite  us 

Lustig  zu  dem  Becher  ein.  Where     the     purple     goblet 

shines. 

We  now  come  to  tlie  third  and  most  important  period 
of  Scliiller's  life.  Tliere  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  natural 
repulsion  between  him  and  Goethe,  when  they  first 
met ;  but  it  extended  no  deeper  than  the  surface  of 
their  natures.  Goethe  was  ten  years  older,  and  the 
license  of  the  "  Storm  and  Stress "  school,  from  which 
Schiller  was  just  emerging,  lay  far  behind  him :  the 
lives  of  the  two  men  had  been  wholly  different :  their 
temperaments  had  nothing  in  common  :  yet  both  cher- 
ished the  same  secret  ambition,  both  were  struggling 
towards  an  equally  lofty  ideal  of  literary  achievement. 
After  Schiller  settled  in  Jena  they  occasionally  met, 
without  being  drawn  nearer  ;  but  in  the  course  of  three 
or  four  years,  various  circumstances  compelled  them  to 
approach.  Both  stood  almost  alone,  independent  of 
the  clans  of  smaller  authors  who  assailed  them ;  both 


SCHILLER.  285 

felt  tlie  need  of  a  generous  and  intelligent  sympathy. 
Schiller,  in  1794,  projected  a  new  literary  periodical, 
''Die  Horen"  and  Goethe's  co-operation  was  too  im- 
portant to  be  overlooked.  He  replied  to  Schiller's 
letter  in  a  very  friendly  spirit,  and  the  two  scon 
afterwards  met  in  Jena.  They  became  engaged  in  a 
conversation  upon  natural  science,  which  was  con- 
tinued through  the  streets  to  the  door  of  Schiller's 
house.  Goethe  entered,  sat  down  at  a  table,  took 
a  pen  and  paper,  and  drew  what  he  called  a  typical 
plant,  to  illustrate  some  conclusions  at  which  he  had 
arrived  in  his  botanical  studies.  Schiller  examined  the 
drawing  carefully,  and  then  said  :  "  This  is  not  an  obser- 
vation, it  is  an  idea."  Goethe,  as  he  related  long  after- 
wards, was  very  much  annoyed  by  the  remark,  because 
it  betrayed  a  habit  of  thought  so  foreign  to  his  own ; 
but  he  concealed  his  feeling  and  quietly  answered : 
"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  find  that  I  can  have  ideas,  without 
being  aware  of  it."  The  conversation  presently  took 
another  turn,  and  the  two  poets  found  various  points 
wherein  they  harmonized.  They  parted  with  the  mutual 
impression  that  a  further  and  closer  intercourse  would 
render  them  a  mutual  service  ;  and  there  is  no  literary 
friendship  in  all  history  comparable  to  that  whicli 
thenceforth  united  them.  Their  unlikeness  was  both 
the  charm  and  the  blessing  of  their  intercourse.  Each 
afi'ected  the  other,  not  in  regard  to  manner,  or  super- 
ficial  characteristics   of  style,  but  by  the    shock  and 


286  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

encounter  of  tliouglit,  by  approaching  literature  from 
opposite  sides  and  contrasting  their  views,  by  stimu- 
lating the  better  development  of  each  and  giving  a  new 
spur  to  his  productiveness.  The  deep  and  earnest 
bases  of  their  natures  kept  them  together,  in  spite  of 
all  dissimilarity. 

Goethe  possessed  already  the  element  of  repose, 
which  was  wanting  to  Schiller.  He  had  a  feeling  for 
the  proportion  of  parts,  in  a  literary  work,  which 
Schiller  was  painfully  endeavoring  to  acquire.  His 
imagination  worked  from  above  downward,  in  order  to 
base  itself  upon  real,  palpable  forms,  while  the  natural 
tendency  of  Schiller's  was  to  get  as  far  away  as  possible 
from  the  reality  of  things.  The  difference  in  their  tem- 
peraments was  also  peculiar.  Schiller's  habit  was  to 
discuss  his  poetic  themes  in  advance  of  writing — to 
change  and  substitute,  to  add  here  and  cut  off  there, 
and  so  exhaust  the  modes  of  treatment  of  his  subject 
before  he  began  to  treat  it ;  while  Goethe  never  dared 
to  communicate  any  part  of  his  plan  in  advance.  When 
he  did  so,  he  lost  all  interest  in  writing  it.  His  judg- 
ment was  opposed  to  Schiller's  choice  of  "  WaUenstein'" 
for  dramatic  treatment ;  but  he  confessed  his  mistake 
when  the  work  was  finished.  Schiller,  on  the  other 
hand,  insisted  that  Goethe  would  write  a  poem  in 
ottava  rima — rhymed  stanzas  of  eight  lines — and  was 
thunderstruck  when  Goethe  sent  him  the  entire  manu- 
script of  "  Hermann  unci  Dorothea,''  written  in  hexame- 


SCHILLER.  287 

ters.  Tlie  tliorougli  independence  of  tlie  two  men  is  a 
rare  and  remarkable  feature  of  their  intercourse. 

The  ricli  correspondence  left  to  us  from  those  years 
enables  us  to  restore  all  the  details  of  Schiller's  life  and 
literary  labor.  The  income  which  he  derived  from  edit- 
ing and  superintending  his  periodical,  "The  Hours," 
was  not  more  than  five  hundred  dollars  a  year.  At  the 
end  of  seven  or  eight  years  it  was  discontinued  for  lack 
of  support.  Another  of  the  forms  of  drudgery  whereby 
Schiller  earned  his  bread,  was  the  publication  of  the 
"  Musenalmanach  "  or  "Calendar  of  the  Muses  " — an  an- 
nual volume  of  poetry.  He  was  obliged  to  procure 
contributions  from  all  the  principal  German  poets,  to 
arrange  them  in  proj^er  order,  contract  for  the  printing, 
read  the  proofs,  superintend  the  binding,  pay  the  au- 
thors and  send  specimen  copies  to  them.  The  pub- 
lisher, whose  only  labor  was  to  sell  the  books  thus 
furnished  to  his  hands,  paid  Schiller  twenty  dollars  for 
every  printed  sheet  of  sixteen  pages,  out  of  which  sum 
Schiller  paid  the  authors  sixteen  dollars,  reserving  four 
dollars  as  his  own  remuneration.  His  whole  profit  on 
the  volume  was  a  little  less  than  five  hundred  dollars, 
after  months  of  correspondence,  of  annoyance  with 
tardy  printers,  and  all  the  interruption  which  the  task 
caused  to  his  studies. 

The  completion  of  "  WaUensfein "  was  fortunately 
delayed  by  these  labors  and  by  the  new  poetic  activity 
which  sprang  up  through  his  intercourse  with  Goethe. 


288  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

The  contact  of  two  sucli  electric  intellects  struck  out 
constant  flaslies  of  light  from  both.  Schiller's  poetry, 
from  this  time,  exhibits  a  finish,  a  proportion,  a  sus- 
tained and  various  music,  which  shows  that  his  powers 
were  at  last  reduced  to  order,  and  working  both  joy- 
ously and  intelligently.  Those  noble  poems,  "  Der 
Spatziergang  "  (The  Walk)  and  Das  Lied  von  der 
GlocJce "  (The  Song  of  the  Bell)  were  soon  followed 
by  his  famous  ballads — some  of  which  are  masterpieces 
of  rhythmical  narrative.  "  Der  Taucher  "  (The  Diver), 
"  Der  Gang  nacli  dem  Eisenhammer "  (The  Message  to 
the  Forge)  and  ''Der  Ring  des  PoJyJcrates"  (The  Ring  of 
Polycrates)  are  as  familiar  to  all  German  school-boys 
as  "Lochiel's  Warning"  or  "Young  Lochinvar  "  to 
ours,  and  no  translation  can  wholly  rob  them  of  their 
beauty.  In  them  we  find  no  trace  of  the  crudity  and 
extravagance  of  the  poems  of  the  First  Period,  nor  the 
somewhat  artificial,  metaphysical  character  of  most 
of  those  Qjf  the  Second  Period.  The  first  foaming 
of  the  must  and  the  slow  second  fermentation  are 
over,  and  we  have  at  last  the  clear,  golden,  perfect 
wine  "cellared  for  eternal  time."  These  ballads 
might  properly  be  called  epical  lyrics.  Their  subjects 
have  an  inherent  dignity  ;  their  style  is  simj^le,  sus- 
tained and  noble  ;  their  rhetoric  has  never  been  sur- 
passed in  the  German  language,  and  their  resounding 
music  can  only  be  compared  to  that  of  such  English 
poems    as    Byron's     "Destruction    of     Sennacherib/' 


SCHILLER.  289 

Macaulay's  "Horatius,"    and  Campbell's  "Mariners   of 
England." 

The  connection  witli  Goetlie  gave  rise  to  another 
joint  literary  undertaking,  of  a  very  different  character, 
provoked  by  the  continual  attacks  of  Count  Stolberg, 
Novalis,  Schlegel  and  their  followers.  Up  to  the  year 
1796,  neither  poet  had  taken  any  notice  of  the  abuse 
and  misrepresentation  heaped  upon  them ;  but  in  the 
summer  of  that  year,  Goethe,  who  had  been  reading  the 
Latin  Xenia  of  Martial,  wrote  a  few  German  Xenia, 
directed  against  his  literary  enemies.  Schiller  caught 
the  idea  at  once  ;  they  met  and  worked  together  until 
they  had  produced  several  hundred  stinging  epigrams 
of  two  or  four  lines  each,  and  then  they  published  the 
collection.  It  was  like  disturbing  a  wasj)s'  nest.  The 
air  of  Germany  was  filled  with  sounds  of  pain,  rage  and 
malicious  laughter.  As  Lewes  says :  "  The  sensation 
produced  by  Pope's  '  Dunciad '  and  Byron's  '  English 
Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers '  was  mild  compared  with 
the  sensation  produced  by  the  'Xenien,'  although  the 
wit  and  the  sarcasm  of  the  '  Xenien '  is  like  milk  and 
water  compared  with  the  vitriol  of  the  *  Dunciad '  and 
the  'English  Bards.'  "  Lewes,  however,  did  not  appre- 
ciate the  peculiar  sting  of  the  "  Xenien,''  which  did  not 
satirize  the  individual  authors  or  their  peculiarities 
of  expression,  so  much  as  their  intellectual  stand- 
point and  their  manner  of  thought.  The  hostility  cre- 
ated by  this  defence  and  counter-assault  of  Goethe 
13 


290  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

and  Scliiller  lived  as  long  as  tlie  persons  who  suffered 
from  it. 

In  the  year  1799,  the  dramatic  trilogy  of  "  JVaUen- 
stcirt "  was  completed.  Instead  of  the  one  tragedy  which 
Schiller  had  planned,  seven  years  before,  he  had  pro- 
duced three  plays — "  Wallensteins  Lager  "  (Wallenstein's 
Camp),  an  introductory  act,  in  eleven  scenes,  the  object 
of  which  is  to  give  a  picture  of  soldier-life,  towards  the 
close  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War :  "  Die  Piccolomini" 
wdiich  discloses  the  conspiracy  against  Wallenstein,  and 
prepares  for  the  tragic  sequel  of  the  plot  in  the  third 
part — "Wallensteins  TocV  (Wallenstein's  Death).  I 
have  said  that  the  work  was  fortunately  delayed,  because 
Schiller  had  not  attained  his  higher  development  when 
he  began  it.  The  feeling  of  uncertainty  which  made 
him  lay  it  aside  from  time  to  time  was  a  true  instinct : 
he  waited  until  he  felt  that  his  powers  were  equal  to  the 
task.  How  much  he  had  learned,  may  be  seen  by  com- 
paring "  Wallc7istein'"  and  "Don  Carlos."  It  is  the  dif- 
ference between  passion  and  eloquence  and  impetuous 
movement,  and  the  stately,  secure  march  of  a  mind  which 
has  mastered  its  material.  In  "  I)o7i  Carlos,"  we  feel 
that  Schiller  has  exj)ressed  himself  affirmatively  in  the 
hero  and  the  Marquis  Posa,  and  negatively  in  Philip  11. 
and  the  Princess  Eboli  :  whereas,  in  "  Wallenstein" 
each  character  has  its  own  objective  life,  and  the  poet 
seems  calmly  to  chronicle  the  unfoldings  of  a  plot  which 
is  evolved  by  and  from  those  characters.     "  Wallenstein  " 


SCHILLER. 


291 


belongs  in  tlie  first  rank  of  dramatic  poems,  after  tliose 
of  Shakespeare.  Coleridge's  Translation  gives  a  fair 
representation  of  it  in  English,  although  he  has  some- 
times mistaken  Schiller's  meaning,  and  sometimes 
changed  the  text.  The  famous  passage,  referring  to 
the  forms  of  old  mythology,  which  he  has  added,  is  very 
beautiful  in  itself,  but  it  is  dramatically  out  of  place. 
It  may  be  interesting  to  you  to  know  just  what  Schiller 
wrote,  and  in  what  manner  Coleridge  has  amplified  the 
lines.     This  is  the  original  passage  : 


Die  Fabel  ist  der  Liebe  Heimath- 

land ; 
Gern  wolint  sie  unter  Feen,  Ta- 

lismanen, 
Glaubt  gei'n  an  Gutter,  well  sie 

gottlich  ist. 
Die  alten  Fabelwesen  sind  niclit 

mebr, 
Das  reizende  GescUecbt  ist  aus- 

gewandert  ; 
Doch  eine  Sprache  braucbt  das 

Herz,  es  bringt 
Der  alte  Trieb  die  alten  Namen 

wieder, 
Und    an     dem     Sternenhimmel 

gelm  sie  jetzt, 
Die  sonst  im  Leben  frcundlicb 

mit  gewandelt  ; 
Dort  winkcn  sie  dem  Liebenden 

herab, 
Und  jedes    Qrosse    bringt    uns 

Jupiter 
Noch    diesen    Tag,    und   Venus 

jedes  Schone. 


For  Fable  is  the  native  home  of 

love  ; 
'Mid  fays  and  talismans  be  loves 

to  dwell. 
Believes  in  Gods,  being  himself 

divine. 
The  ancient  forms  of  fable  are 

no  more. 
The  enchanting  race  has  gone, 

migrating  forth  ; 
Yet  needs  the  heart  its  language, 

yet  return 
The  olden   names  when  moves 

the  old  desire, 
And  still  in  yonder  starry  heav- 
ens they  live 
Who    once,    benignant,    shared 

the  life  of  earth  ; 
There,  beckoning  to  the  lover, 

they  look  down, 
And  even  now  'tis  Jupiter  that 

brings 
Whate'cr   is  great,   and   Venus 

all  that's  fair  I 


292  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

I  will  now  give  the  mixture  of  Schiller  and  Coleridge : 

For  Fable  is  Love's  world,  his  home,  his  birth-place  : 

Delightedly  dwells  he  'mong  fays  and  talismans 

And  spirits  ;  and  delightedly  believes 

Divinities,  being  himself  divine. 

The  intelligible  forms  of  ancient  poets. 

The  fair  humanities  of  old  religion, 

The  power,  the  beauty,  and  the  majesty. 

That  had  their  haunts  in  dale,  or  piny  mountain, 

Or  forest  by  slow  stream,  or  pebbly  spring. 

Or  chasms  and  watery  depths  ;  all  these  have  vanished  ; 

They  live  no  longer  in  the  faith  cf  reason  ! 

But  still  the  heart  doth  need  a  language,  still 

Doth  the  old  instinct  bring  back  the  old  names, 

And  to  yon  starry  world  they  now  are  gone. 

Spirits  or  gods,  that  used  to  share  this  earth 

With  man,  as  with  their  friend  ;  and  to  the  lover 

Yonder  they  move,  from  yonder  visible  sky 

Shoot  influence  down  :  and  even  at  this  day 

'Tis  Jupiter  brings  whate'er  is  great. 

And  Venus  who  brings  everything  that's  fair  ! 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Coleridge  has  here  touched  to 
adorn:  there  is  nothing  in  Schiller's  lines  so  fine  as 
"  the  fair  humanities  of  old  religion  " — but  his  digres- 
sion is  a  violation  of  the  dramatic  law  by  which  Schiller 
was  governed.  We  pardon  it  for  its  beauty,  yet  we 
should  be  wrong  in  allowing  such  a  liberty  to  trans- 
lators. 

In  1799,  Schiller  removed  to  Weimar.  The  Duke, 
Karl  August,  influenced  by  Goethe,  offered  him  a  pen- 
sion of  one  thousand  thalers  a  year,  with  the  condition 
that  it  should  be  doubled,  in  case  of  illness.  Schiller, 
however,  refused  to  accept  this  condition,  saying :  "  I 


SCHILLER.  293 

liave  some  talent,  and  tliat  must  do  the  rest."  The  suc- 
cess of  "  Wallenstein "  stimulated  him  to  new  labor. 
During  the  year  1800,  he  wrote  ^^ Marie  Stuart;"  in 
1801,  "  Die  Junqfrait  von  Orleans "  (The  Maid  of 
Orleans);"  and  in  1802,  Die  Braut  von  Blessina'"  (The 
Bride  of  Messina).  The  first  and  second  of  these  plays 
were  more  popular  than  "  Wallenstein"  perhaps  for  the 
reason  that  they  are  inferior  as  dramatic  works.  The 
interest  is  more  obvious,  the  action  is  less  involved,  and 
there  are  passages  in  each  full  of  that  power  and  elo- 
quence which  tells  so  immediately  upon  an  audience. 
In  "The  Bride  of  Messina  "  ScJiiller  made  a  very  daring 
experiment.  He  wrote  the  play  in  rhyme,  and  intro- 
duced a  chorus,  in  imitation  of  the  classical  drama.  All 
his  rhythmical  genius,  all  the  splendor  of  his  rhetoric 
were  employed ;  but  the  result  was,  and  is  to  this  day, 
uncertain.  The  "Bride  of  Messina  "  is  still  occasionally 
presented  on  the  German  stage;  but  it  is  listened  to 
more  as  a  brilliant  phenomenon  than  as  a  confirmed 
favorite  of  the  public.  The  innovation  has  not  been 
naturalized  in  Germany,  and  probably  never  will  be. 

In  the  year  1802,  at  the  request  of  the  Duke,  the 
Emperor  of  Austria  conferred  a  patent  of  nobility  upon 
Schiller.  The  cause  of  this  honor  was  not  his  genius 
as  a  poet,  but  the  circumstance  that  his  wife,  losing  the 
von  out  of  her  name  in  marrying  him,  had  forfeited  her 
right  to  appear  in  Court  society — a  right  which  she 
possessed  before  her  marriage.     Of  course  the  rules  of 


294  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

tlie  Court  could  not  be  broken,  or  the  Earth  might  have 
been  shaken  from  its  orbit ;  so  the  only  way  in  which 
the  Frau  Schiller  could  recover  her  lost  aristocracy  was 
to  make  her  husband  Friedrich  von  Schiller.  It  was 
only  for  her  sake  that  he  accepted  the  title  :  it  enabled 
him  to  repay  her  for  the  conventional  sacrifice  which 
she  had  made  in  marrying  him.  It  is  true,  neverthe- 
less, that  he  was  far  from  being  democratic  in  his  polit- 
ical views.  The  Democracy  of  Germany  celebrates  him 
as  its  special  poet,  and  condemns  Goethe  for  his  aristo- 
cratic predilections.  This  impression  is  so  fixed  that 
it  is  now  almost  impossible  to  change  it ;  yet,  if  there 
was  any  difference  between  the  two  poets,  Goethe  was 
certainly  the  more  democratic.  It  seems  to  me  that 
Schiller's  intellectual  revolt  against  authority  in  his 
youth,  combined  with  the  intense  yearning  for  spiritual 
growth  and  spiritual  freedom  which  throbs  like  an  im- 
mortal pulse  of  life  through  all  his  later  works,  must  be 
accepted  as  the  explanation.  Such  expressions  as  "  Free- 
dom exists  only  in  the  realm  of  dreams,"  and  "  The  Poet 
should  walk  with  Kings,  for  both  dwell  upon  the  heights 
of  humanity" — certainly  do  not  indicate  a  political  feel- 
ing at  all  republican  in  its  character.  In  1814,  Goethe 
said  to  Eckermann  :  "  People  seem  not  to  be  willing  to 
see  me  as  I  am,  and  turn  away  their  eyes  from  every- 
thing which  might  set  me  in  a  true  light.  On  the 
other  hand,  Schiller,  who  was  much  more  of  an  aristo- 
crat than  I,  but  who  was  also  much  more  considerate 


SCHILLER.  295 

in  regard  to  wliat  lie  said,  liad  tlie  remarkable  fortune 
of  being  always  looked  upon  as  a  friend  of  tlie  people. 
I  do  not  grudge  liim  his  good  luck :  I  console  myself 
with  the  knowledge  that  others  before  me  have  had  the 
same  experience." 

As  Schiller's  life  drew  towards  a  close,  the  outward 
evidences  of  his  success  came  to  cheer  and  encourage 
him.  In  Leipzig,  in  1803,  and  in  Berlin,  in  1804,  he 
was  received  with  every  mark  of  honor.  The  King  of 
Prussia  offered  him  a  salary  of  three  thousand  thalers, 
to  take  charge  of  the  Eoyal  theatre,  but  he  refused  to 
give  up  Weimar,  and  the  intercourse  with  Goethe,  which 
had  now  become  an  intellectual  necessity.  His  last 
great  work,  by  some  critics  pronounced  to  be  his  great- 
est dramatic  success,  was  the  play  of  "  JFilhelm  Tell," 
the  subject  of  which,  and  part  of  the  material,  he  owed 
to  Goethe.  It  is  a  pleasant  illustration  of  the  manner 
in  which  the  two  poets  assisted  each  other.  When 
Goethe  visited  Switzerland  in  1797,  he  formed  the  idea 
of  writing  an  epic  poem,  Avith  Tell  as  the  hero.  He 
made  studies  of  the  scenery,  collected  historical  data, 
and  for  two  or  three  years  carried  the  plan  about  with 
him,  letting  it  slowly  mature  in  his  mind,  as  was  his 
habit  of  composition.  He  finally  decided  to  give  it  up, 
but,  feeling  that  the  subject  was  better  adapted  to  dra- 
matic representation  than  epic  narrative,  he  gave  his 
material  to  Schiller,  reserving  only  a  description  of 
sunrise  among  the  A\j)s,  which  is  now  to  be  found  in 


29G  GEIiMAJSr  LITERATURE. 

tlie  first  scene  of  tlie  Second  Part  of  "  Fausf."  The  in- 
tense, glowing  quality  of  Scliiller's  imagination  soon 
assimilated  this  foreign  material,  and  in  none  of  his 
works  is  there  such  a  fusion  of  subject,  scenery  and 
sentiment.  From  the  first  page  to  the  last,  the  reader 
— or  the  hearer — is  set  among  the  valleys  of  the  Alps, 
and  surrounded  by  a  brave  and  oppressed  people.  His- 
torians may  attempt  to  show  that  there  never  was  either 
a  William  Tell  or  a  Gessler — that  the  whole  story  is  a 
myth,  borrowed  from  Denmark,  but  Schiller  has  made 
Tell  a  real  person  for  all  time.     As  he  says,  in  one  of 

his  lyrics : 

Was  sicli  nie  und  nirgends  hat  begeben. 
Das  allein  veraltet  nie. 

There  are  serious  dramatic  faults  in  the  work,  but 
they  never  can  affect  its  popularity.  It  has  that  exqui- 
site beauty  and  vitality  which  defy  criticism.  The  dic- 
tion has  all  the  dignity  of  that  of  "  Wallemtein,"  with  an 
ease  and  grace  of  movement,  which  cannot  be  called 
new  in  Schiller,  and  which  exhibits  the  perfection  of  his 
best  qualities.  If  any  one  supposes  that  the  German 
language  is  harsh  and  unmusical,  let  him  listen  to  the 
song  of  the  fisher-boy,  rocking  in  his  boat  on  the  lake, 
with  which  the  drama  opens : 

FiSCHEKKNABE.  FiSHER-BOY. 

Es  lachelt  der  See,  er  ladet  zum  Inviting  the  bather,  the  bright 

Bade,  lake  is  leaping  ; 

Der  Knabe  schlief  ein  am  grii-  The  fisher-boy  lies  on  its  margin 

nen  Gestade,  a-sleeping  : 


SCHILLER. 


297 


Da  liort  er  ein  Klingen, 
Wie  Ploten  so  siiss, 
Wie  Stimmeu  der  Engel 
Im  Paradies. 
Und,  wie  er  erwachet  in  seliger 

Lust, 
Da  splilen  die   Wasser  ilim  um 
die  Brust. 

Und  es  ruft  aus  den  Tie- 
fen  : 
Lieb  Knabe  bist  mein  ! 

Icli  locke  den  Scliliifer, 
Icb  zieli  ihn  herein. 


Tlien  bears  he  a  music 
Like  flutes  in  its  tone, 
Like  voices  of  angels 
In  Eden  alone. 
And  as  he  awakens,  enraptured 

and  blest. 
The  waters  are  whirling  around 
his  breast  ; 

And    a    voice    from    the 

waters 
Says:  "mine   thou  must 

be! 
I  wait  for  the  sleeper, 
I  lure  him  to  me  !  " 


HlHT. 

Ihr  Matten,  lebt  wohl  I 
Ihr  sonnigen  Weiden ! 
Der  Senne  muss  scheiden, 

Der  Somnier  ist  liin. 
Wir  fahren  zu  Berg,  wir  kom- 

men  wieder, 
Wenn   der   Kukuk  ruft,    wenn 

erwachen  die  Lieder, 
Wenn  mit  Blumen  die  Erde  sich 

kleidet  neu, 
Wenn  die  Brlinnlein  fliessen  im 
lieblichen  Mai. 

Ihr  Matten,  lebt  wohl  ! 
Ihr  sonnigen  Weiden  ! 
Der  Senne  muss  scheiden, 

Der  Sommer  ist  hin. 

Alpenjager. 
Es  donnern  die  Ilohen,   es  zit- 

tert  der  Steg, 
Nicht  grauet  dem  Schiitzen  auf 

schwindlichtcm  Weg ; 

13* 


Herdsman. 

Te  meadows,  farewell ! 
Ye  sunniest  pastures. 
The  herdsman  must  leave 

you. 
The  summer  is  gone. 
We  go  from  the  hills,  we  come 

ere  long 
When  the  cuckoo  calls,  and  the 

sound  of  song  ; 
When  the  earth  with  blossoms 

again  is  gay, 
When  the  fountains  gush  in  the 
lovely  May. 

Ye  meadows,  farewell ! 
Ye  sunniest  pastures. 
The  herdsman  must  leave 

you. 
The  summer  is  gone. 

Alpine  Hunter. 
The     avalanche    thunders,   the 

bridges  are  frail, 
The  hunter  is  fearless,  though 

dizzy  the  trail  ; 


293  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Er  shreitet  verwegen  He  strides  in  liis  daring 

Auf  Feldern  von  Eis  ;  O'er  deserts  of  snows, 

Da  pranget  kein  Friihling,  Where  Spring  never  blos- 
soms 

Da  grilnet  kein  Eeis  ;  And  grass  never  grows, 

Und,  unter  den  Fiissen  ein  ne-  And  the  mists  like  an  ocean  be- 

blichtes  Meer,  neath  him  are  tost, 

Erkennt  er  die  Stiidte  der  Men-  Till  the  cities  of  men  to  his  vi- 

schen  nicht  mehr  ;  sion  are  lost. 

Durch  den  Riss  nur  der  Through  the  rifts  of  the 

Wolken  cloud-land 

Erblickt  er  die  Welt,  The  far  world  gleams, 

Tief  unter  den  Wassern  And  the  green  fields  un- 
der 

Das  griinende  Peld.  The  Alpine  streams. 

Sucli  is  the  musical  overture  of  Alpine  life  witli  whicli 
Scliiller  opens  the  drama. 

He  never  recovered  from  the  inflammation  of  the 
lungs,  which  attacked  him  in  1791.  During  the  last  ten 
or  twelve  years  of  his  life  he  was  rarely  free  from  pain, 
but  his  mind  seems  to  have  been  always  clear  and  vigor- 
ous, and  his  astonishing  industry  was  really  a  necessity 
to  his  nature.  He  lived  in  his  art,  and  was  happy  in 
recognizing  his  own  progress  towards  a  lofty  and  far-off 
ideal.  In  order  to  avoid  interruption,  he  contracted 
the  habit  of  writing  wholly  at  night,  and  of  keeping  off 
drowsiness  by  setting  his  feet  in  a  tub  of  cold  water. 
He  was  physician  enough  to  know  that  he  was  shorten- 
ing his  life  by  such  an  unnatural  habit  of  labor,  but  his 
literary  conscience  was  inexorable.  For  him  there  was 
no  rest,  no  relaxation.  No  sooner  was  "  William  Tell " 
given  to  the  stage,  and  triumphantly  greeted  by  the 


SCniLLEB.  299 

public,  tlian  lie  began  a  new  dramatic  poem,  taking  for 
liis  hero  the  false  Demetrius,  who  imposed  himself  on 
the  Russian  boyards  as  the  true  heir  to  the  throne,  and 
reigned  for  some  months  in  Moscow.  In  the  spring  of 
1805,  when  midway  in  his  work,  he  was  seized  with  a 
chill  at  the  theatre,  and  went  home,  never  to  leave  his 
door  again  as  a  living  man.  A  few  hours  before  his 
death,  he  seemed  to  realize  his  condition,  and  uttered 
the  words :  "  Death  cannot  be  an  evil,  for  it  is  uni- 
versal." He  died  on  the  9tli  of  May,  aged  forty-five 
years  and  six  months.  His  remains  now  rest  in  a  granite 
sarcophagus,  by  the  side  of  Goethe,  in  the  vault  of  the 
Ducal  family  at  Weimar. 

In  carefully  studying  Schiller's  life  and  works,  and 
contrasting  his  position  in  German  literature  with  that 
of  his  contemporaries,  we  are  struck  with  a  certain  dis- 
crepancy between  his  fame  and  his  achievement.  With 
all  his  rare  and  admirable  qualities,  Ave  cannot  place  him 
higher  than  in  the  second  rank  of  poets — in  the  list 
which  includes  Yirgil,  Tasso,  Corneille,  Spenser  and 
Byron.  Yet  his  place  in  popular  estimation,  not  only 
in  Germany,  but  throughout  the  educated  world,  is  cer- 
tainly among  the  first.  His  fame  is  of  that  kind  which 
depends  partly  upon  the  sympathetic  attraction  that 
sometimes  surrounds  an  individual  life, — in  other  words, 
the  interest  of  character  is  added  to  the  intellectual 
recognition  of  the  poet.  We  may  say  that  a  character 
so  positive  as  Schiller's  breathes  through  his  literary 


300  OEBMAN  LITERATURE. 

records,  and  cannot  be  disconnected  from  his  intellect ; 
but  we  sliall  only  state  tbe  same  fact  in  a  different  form. 
To  other  poets — to  Tasso,  Burns  and  Byron — the  same 
personal  interest  is  attached,  yet  in  no  one  does  it  spring 
from  that  lofty,  unceasing  devotion  to  a  noble  literary 
Ideal,  which  gave  its  consecration  to  Schiller's  life. 
Like  Lessing,  he  sought  Truth,  but  not  in  the  realm  of 
fact.  To  him  she  was  not  a  severe,  naked  form,  beauti- 
ful as  a  statue,  but  as  hard  and  cold ;  she  was  rather  a 
shape  of  air  and  light,  poised  above  the  confusion  of 
life,  in  a  region  of  aspiration  and  hope.  The  sense  of 
her  beauty  came  to  Schiller  through  sentiment  and 
sensation,  as  well  as  through  the  intellect ;  and  herein 
he  touches  the  universal  yearning  of  Man. 

His  power  over  the  harmonies  of  language  was  never 
so  grandly  manifested  as  in  some  passages  of  Homer, 
Milton  and  Goethe  ;  but  it  is  more  uniformly  fine  than 
in  almost  any  other  poet.  From  the  tones  of  a  flute  or 
a  wind-harjD  he  rises  to  the  strength  and  resonance  of  an 
organ,  and  in  many  of  his  lyrics  the  rich  volume  of 
sound  rolls  unbroken  to  the  end.  His  language  some- 
times reflects  the  struggle  of  his  thought  to  shape  itself 
clearly  ;  but  it  is  always  pure  and  elevated,  and  his  lines 
and  stanzas  cling  to  the  memory  with  wonderful  tenacity. 
These  qualities,  which  address  themselves  primarily  to 
the  ear,  support  his  sentiment  and  thought,  and  bear 
them,  as  if  unconsciously,  into  a  higher  atmosphere  of 
poetry.     There  is  an  upward  tendency — a  lifting  of  the 


SCHILLER.  301 

intellectual  vision,  a  stirring  as  of  unfolding  wings — in 
almost  everytliing  he  lias  written.  He  is  an  example  of 
a  genius,  not  naturally  of  tlie  highest  order,  carried  by 
the  force  of  an  aspiring,  enthusiastic,  believing  tempera- 
ment almost  to  a  level  with  the  highest.  "Where  so 
many  others  lose  faith  and  cease  exertion,  he  began. 
That  is  the  difference  between  the  Schiller  of  "  The 
Bobbers"  and  the  Schiller  of  " Wallenstein "  and  the 
Ballads. 

Carlyle  says  of  him  :  "  Schiller  has  no  trace  of  van- 
ity ;  scarcely  of  pride,  even  in  its  best  sense,  for  the 
modest  self-consciousness  which  characterizes  genius  is 
with  him  rather  implied  than  openly  expressed.  He 
has  no  hatred;  no  anger,  save  against  Falsehood  and 
Baseness,  where  it  may  be  called  a  holy  anger.  Pre- 
sumptuous triviality  stood  bared  in  his  keen  glance : 
but  his  look  is  the  noble  scowl  that  curls  the  lip  of  an 
Apollo,  when,  pierced  with  sun-arrows,  the  serpent  ex- 
pires before  him.  In  a  word,  we  can  say  of  Schiller 
what  can  only  be  said  of  a  few  in  any  country  or  time  : 
He  was  a  high  ministering  servant  at  Truth's  altar,  and 
bore  him  worthily  of  the  office  he  held His  intel- 
lectual character  has  an  acc.virate  conformity  with  his 
moral  one.  Here,  too,  he  is  simple  in  his  excellence ; 
lofty  rather  than  expansive  or  varied ;  pure,  divinely 
ardent  rather  than  great." 

I  have  allowed  myself  no  space  to  examine  Schiller's 
works  in  detail,  because  it  is  better  first  to  define  the 


302  QEBMAN  LITERATURE. 

place  wliicli  his  life  occupies  in  the  literary  history  of 
Germany,  and  his  individual  characteristics  as  a  poet. 
Though  disparaged  by  the  Stolbergs,  Eiemer  and 
others,  and  exalted  by  Borne  and  a  class  of  later  writers 
above  Goethe,  he  has  fixed  his  own  true  place  at  the 
side  of  the  latter,  lower  through  the  opportunities  of 
life,  lower  in  breadth  of  intellect  and  the  development 
of  all  the  faculties,  but  equal  in  aspiration  and  equal 
in  his  own  field  of  achievement.  His  life  is  an  open 
book  for  whoever  chooses  to  read  it.  All  his  early  im- 
patience and  extravagance,  all  the  struggles  through 
which  he  rose,  the  steps  whereby  he  climbed  to  a 
knowledge  of  himself  and  his  art,  are  revealed  to  our 
gaze ;  but  when  the  history  closes,  we  leave  him  in  the 
ripeness,  the  harmony,  the  joyous  activity  of  his  powers, 
and  this  final  impression  is  the  standard  by  which  we 
measure  his  fame. 

No  German  poet  since  Schiller  has  equalled  his  mag- 
nificent rhythm  and  rhetoric.  The  language  has  been 
made  sweeter,  clearer,  more  flexible  :  it  has  caught  new 
varieties  of  movement  and  melody :  it  has  been  forced 
to  reflect  the  manner  of  many  new  minds,  yet  in  the 
qualities  I  have  mentioned  Schiller  is  still  the  climax  of 
performance. 

I  can  find  no  more  fitting  words  to  close  this  review 
of  a  life  measured  by  heart-throbs  and  brain-throbs, 
rather  than  by  years,  than  the  stanzas  which  Goethe 
dedicated  to  his  memory,  as  an  epilogue  to  the  "Song 


schilleb:  303 

of  the  Bell,"  wlien  it  was  represented  in  Weimar,  in  tlie 
year  1815 : 

"  Denn  er  war  unser  !    Mag  das  stolze  Wort 
Den  lauten  Sclimerz  gewaltig  libertonen  I 
Er  moclite  sich  bei  uns,  im  sicliern  Port 
Nach  wildem  Sturm  zum  Dauernden  gewhonen. 
Indessen  scliritt  seiu  Geist  gewaltig  fort 
Ins  Ewige  des  Wahren,  Guten,  Sclifinen, 
Und  hinter  ihm,  in  wesenlosem  Sclieine, 
Lag,  was  uus  AUe  bandig-t,  das  Gemeine. 

Nun  gliihte  seine  Wange  rotli  und  rcither 
Von  jener  Jugend,  die  uns  nie  entfliegt. 
Von  jenem  Mutli,  der  friiher  oder  spilter. 
Den  Wiederstand  der  stumpfen  Welt  besiegt, 
Von  jenem  Glaubeu,  der  sich  stets  erhohter 
Bald  kiibn  liervordrangt,  bald  geduldig  schmiegt, 
Damit  das  Gute  wirke,  waclise,  f  romme, 
Damit  der  Tag  dem  Edlen  endlich  komme  I " 


For  lie  was  ours  I     Be  tbis  proud  consciousness 

A  spell  that  shall  subdue  our  lamentation  I 

He  sought  Avith  us  a  harbor  from  the  stress 

Of  storms,  a  more  enduring  inspiration. 

While  with  strong  step  his  mind  did  forward  press 

To  Good,  Truth,  Beauty,  in  its  pure  creation. 

And  far  behind  him  lay,  a  formless  vision, 

The  vulgar  power  that  fetters  our  ambition. 

And  thus  his  cheek  grew  red,  and  redder  ever, 
From  that  fair  youth  whose  wings  are  never  furled^ 
That  courage,  crowned  at  last,  wliose  proud  endeavor 
Tames  the  resistance  of  the  stubborn  world, — 
That  faith,  that  onward,  upward,  mounts  forever. 
Now  patient  waiting,  now  in  conflict  hurled. 
That  so  the  Good  shall  work,  increase  and  sway, 
And  for  the  noble  man  shall  dawn  a  nobler  day  1 


GOETHE. 

In  considering  tlie  central  figure  of  tlie  great  age  of 
German  literature — tlie  god,  lie  might  be  called,  who 
sits  alone  on  the  summit  of  the  German  Parnassus — ^I 
feel  how  impossible  it  is  to  give  more  than  the  merest 
outline  of  a  life  which  was  both  broad  and  long,  of  an 
activity  unbroken  for  more  than  sixty  years,  and  cover- 
ing in  its  range  nearly  every  department  of  Literature, 
Art  and  Science.  If  a  cabinet-picture  will  suJBfice  for 
Klopstock  and  Wieland,  a  life-size  sketch  for  Lessing 
and  Schiller,  I  feel  the  need  of  a  canvas  of  heroic  pro- 
portions when  I  come  to  portray  Goethe. 

If  I  were  not  afraid  of  falling  into  the  fault  which  I 
have  attributed  to  the  German  mind — of  constructing  a 
theory  wherever  the  operation  is  possible — I  might  trace 
a  gradual  order  of  development  in  the  authors  who  pre- 
ceded Goethe,  and  show  how  his  intellect,  possessing 
the  supreme  quality  which  was  lacking  in  them,  both 
individually  and  collectively,  became  the  crowning  ele- 
ment in  German  literature.  But  it  will  be  enough  to 
say  that  he  was  born  "  in  the  fullness  of  time  " — when 
Klopstock,  Lessing,  Wieland  and  Herder  ^^re  already 

304 


GOETEE.  305 

upon  the  stage ;  and  tliat  tlie  experience  prepared  for 
liim  by  tlieir  labors  was  precisely  that  wliicli  his  devel- 
opment required.  In  the  case  of  Klopstock,  we  have  a 
useful  and  fortunate,  though  not  a  great  life  ;  in  Lessing 
and  Schiller,  a  life  of  struggle,  nobly  endured  ;  in  Wie- 
land  and  Herder,  lives  of  change,  of  action  and  ambi- 
tion, fruitful  in  influence  ;  but  in  Goethe  we  find  a  long, 
rich,  and  wholly  fortunate  life,  almost  unparalleled  in 
its  results.  In  him  there  is  no  unfulfilled  promise,  no 
fragmentary  destiny :  he  stands  as  complete  and  sym- 
metrical and  satisfactory  as  the  Parthenon. 

I  can  best  represent  his  achievements  by  connecting 
them  with  the  events  of  his  life ;  and  must  therefore 
give  an  outline  of  his  biography.  If  many  of  you  are 
already  familiar  with  the  principal  facts,  you  will  par- 
don me  for  repeating  them,  since  I  can  thus  best  de- 
scribe the  man.  Johann  Wolfgang  Goethe  was  born  in 
Frankfort  on  the  Main,  on  the  28th  of  August,  1749. 
His  father,  the  Councillor  Goethe,  was  a  man  of  wealth, 
education  and  high  social  position ;  his  mother  was  the 
daughter  of  the  Imperial  Councillor  Textor.  These 
ofiicials  of  the  free  city  of  Frankfort  considered  them- 
selves on  a  par  with  the  nobility  of  other  German  lands, 
and  were  equally  proud  and  dignified  in  their  bearing. 
Goethe  was  not  only  a  marvelous  child,  but  he  enjoyed 
marvelous  advantages,  from  his  very  birth.  His  mother 
invented  fairy  stories  for  his  early  childhood  ;  he  learned 
French  from  an  officer  quartered  in  his  father's  house ; 


30G  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

tlie  best  teacliers  were  provided  for  him,  and  vvLen  only 
eight  years  old,  he  was  able  to  write — not  very  cor- 
rectly, of  course — in  the  German,  French,  Italian,  Greek 
and  Latin  languages.  His  beauty,  his  precocious  talent, 
his  bright,  sparkling,  loveable  nature,  procured  him  an 
indulgent  freedom  rarely  granted  to  children,  and  gave 
him  at  the  start  that  independence  and  self-reliance 
which  he  preserved  through  life.  He  began  to  compose 
even  before  he  began  to  write  :  expression,  in  his  case, 
was  co-existent  with  feeling  and  thought.  Before  he 
was  twelve  years  old,  he  planned  and  partly  wrote  a 
romance  which  illustrates  his  wonderful  acquirements. 
The  characters  are  seven  brothers  and  sisters,  scattered 
in  different  parts  of  Europe.  One  of  them  writes  in 
German,  one  in  French,  one  in  English,  one  in  Italian, 
one  in  Latin  and  Greek,  and  another  in  the  Jewish-Ger- 
man dialect.  The  study  of  the  latter  led  him  to  Hebrew, 
which  he  kept  up  long  enough  to  read  a  portion  of  the 
Bible.  At  an  age  when  most  boys  are  struggling  unwill- 
ingly with  the  rudiments  of  knowledge,  he  had  laid  a 
broad  basis  for  all  future  studies,  and  grasped  with  pas- 
sionate eagerness  every  opportunity  of  anticipating 
them.  There  have  been  similar  instances  of  precocity, 
but  the  informing  and  mastering  genius  was  lacking. 
The  boy  Goethe  assimilated  and  turned  to  immediate 
use  all  that  he  learned.  His  creative  power  was  devel- 
oped many  years  in  advance  of  the  usual  period.  He 
soon  became  a  hero  in  the  youthful  society  of  Frankfort 


OOETHB.  307 

— a  poet,  an  improvisatore  and  a  wit,  astonisliing  liis 
associates  by  liis  brilliancy  and  daring,  and  at  the  same 
time  offending  liis  stern,  respectable  father. 

In  1765,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  was  sent  to  the  Uni- 
versity of  Leipzig,  to  study  jurisprudence  ;  but  he  soon 
wearied  of  that  study,  as  well  as  of  logic  and  rhetoric, 
as  they  were  then  taught.  Except  botany  and  mineral- 
ogy, he  neglected  all  graver  studies,  gave  up  much  of 
his  time  to  society,  and  imagined  himself  in  love  with  a 
maiden  two  or  three  years  older  than  himself.  His  life 
at  Leipzig,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  very  wild  and 
irregular.  The  scornful  independence  of  others,  which 
he  asserted,  began  to  show  itself  in  excesses,  and  at  the 
end  of  three  years  he  went  home  with  hemorrhage  of 
the  lungs  and  a  tumor  on  his  neck.  More  than  a  year 
was  needed  for  his  entire  recovery,  and  during  this 
period  the  better  forces  of  his  nature  began  to  assert 
themselves.  He  regained  his  lost  balance  :  his  literary 
aspirations  revived,  and  gradually  grew  into  earnestness 
and  coherence. 

In  his  twenty-first  year  he  was  sent  to  Strassburg,  to 
continue  his  legal  studies,  but  already  carrying  with 
him  the  plan  of  his  first  famous  work — the  tragedy  of 
"  Gotz  von  Berlichingcn.'"  During  the  seclusion  of  his 
illness,  he  had  occupied  himself  chiefly  with  alchemy 
and  mystic  speculation.  The  seed  of  the  future  "  Faust " 
was  even  then  sown,  and  it  was  not  long  before  it  began 
to  germinate.     But  the  greatest  fortune  of  his  residence 


308  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

in  Strassburg  was  liis  acquaintance  witli  Herder,  wlio  was 
five  years  older  than  Goetlie,  and  at  that  time  of  a  graver 
and  profounder  temperament.  The  two  men  were  very 
much  unlike,  and  they  never  became  intimate  friends ; 
but  there  is  no  doubt  that  Herder's  comj)anionship  and 
counsel,  during  the  six  months  they  spent  together,  was 
of  great  value  in  weaning  Goethe  from  the  lawless,  im- 
pulsive mood  into  which  he  had  fallen.  He  was  sud- 
denly seized  with  a  desire  to  overcome  everything  which 
seemed  like  a  weakness  in  his  nature.  He  cured  his 
tendency  to  giddiness,  on  looking  down  from  heights, 
by  climbing  the  spire  of  Strassburg  Cathedral  every 
day.  He  had  a  constitutional  dread  of  the  super- 
natural, without  believing  in  it ;  so  he  went  into  grave- 
yai'ds  at  midnight ;  he  disliked  loud  voices,  and  there- 
fore went  as  near  as  possible  to  the  drums  of  the  mili- 
tary band.  He  was  easily  affected  by  a  sense  of  disgust, 
and  for  that  reason  attended  the  dissections  of  the  medi- 
cal class.  He  also  studied  electricity,  wrote  a  pamphlet 
on  Gothic  architecture,  and  withal,  qualified  himself  for 
the  degree  of  Doctor  Juris,  Avhich  he  received  in  a  little 
more  than  a  year.  Returning  to  Frankfort,  he  first 
re-wrote  the  tragedy  of  "  Gotz  von  Berlicldngen,"  and 
was  then  sent  by  his  father  to  practice  in  the  Imperial 
Chancery  at  "Wetzlar,  a  small  town  near  Giessen.  But 
he  remained  there  only  a  few  months,  occupying  him- 
self much  more  with  literature  than  Avith  law.  His 
tragedy  was  again  revised,  and  was  then  published  in 


GOETHE.  309 

tlie  spring  of  1773.  Its  popularity  was  immediate  and 
universal.  Compared  witli  Schiller's  "  Robbers,"  pro- 
duced at  very  nearly  the  same  age,  every  reader  will 
feel  the  great  superiority  of  "  Gotz."  Here  there  is 
nothing  crude,  and  little  that  is  purely  subjective.  The 
piece  is  full  of  life  and  movement,  and  the  touch  of  a 
master  is  seen  in  the  delineation  of  every  character. 
In  regard  to  form,  Goethe  undoubtedly  owed  something 
both  to  Shakespeare  and  Lessing,  but  his  management 
of  the  historic  material  is  entirely  his  own.  His  lite- 
rary fame  was  secured  at  one  blow.  It  is  worthy  of  re- 
mark that  the  translation  of  "  Gotz  von  Berlichingen" 
was  Walter  Scott's  first  essay  in  literature. 

The  attention  of  such  men  as  Zimmermann,  Lavater, 
and  Klopstock  was  attracted  towards  Goethe  by  this 
work.  His  name  began  to  be  known  throughout  Ger- 
many :  he  was  astonished  at  his  sudden  popularity,  and 
considered  it,  at  first,  a  lucky  accident.  Soon  after  the 
publication  of  "  GiJiz,''  the  young  prince  Karl  August 
of  Weimar  passed  through  Frankfurt,  and  sent  for 
Goethe.  This  was  the  beginning  of  a  friendship  which 
lasted  for  fifty-five  years,  and  determined  the  external 
circumstances  of  Goethe's  life.  Law  was  now  entirely 
given  up,  and  Goethe,  again  an  inmate  of  his  father's 
house  for  two  or  three  years,  gave  all  his  time  to  litera- 
ture. He  planned  a  tragedy  to  be  called  " Mohammed" 
a  fragment  of  which  survives,  wrote  several  admirable 
lyrics,  and  produced  his  satire,  called  "Gotfer,  Ilcldcn 


310  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

unci  Wieland^''  (Gods,  Heroes,  and  Wieland).  In  1774, 
two  years  after  the  events  upon  wliicli  the  book  is 
founded  had  occurred,  he  published  "Die  Leiden  des 
juncjen  Wertliers  "  (The  Sorrows  of  Werther).  The  history 
of  this  work,  the  prodigious  sensation  which  it  pro- 
duced, and  the  character  of  its  influence  contrasted 
with  the  author's  design,  make  it  a  phenomenon  in  the 
annals  of  literature.  The  "Storm  and  Stress"  period, 
to  which  I  have  referred,  was  then  approaching  its  cli- 
max. Although  "  Gotz  von  BerlicJiingen  "  is  remarkably 
free  from  its  spirit,  Goethe  could  no  more  escape  the 
infection  than  a  child  can  escape  the  mumps  or  the 
measles.  His  powerful  nature  experienced  every  symp- 
tom of  the  disease  in  an  aggravated  form,  and  then  healed 
itself.  Although  no  poet  ever  made  freer  use  of  his  own 
sensations  and  experiences — his  joy,  suffering,  passion 
and  aspiration — ^yet  his  habit  was  to  wait  until  the  ex- 
perience had  passed,  then  holding  it  firmly  apart  from 
him — as  a  man  might  hold  an  amputated  limb,  wherein 
every  nerve  is  dead — to  make  it  an  intellectual  study. 
He  revives  the  tempest,  and  lets  it  rage  around  him  ;  but 
in  the  centre  there  is  a  vortex  of  calm,  where  he  sits  and 
controls  it.  "  Werther  "  is  a  psychological  study  of  this 
character.  Goethe  combined  his  own  experience  with 
the  tragical  fate  of  a  man  whom  he  knew,  and  produced 
what  is  generally  called  a  sentimental  story,  but  which 
is  really  a  remarkable  dissection  of  a  typical  character. 
But  it  was  not  so  received  and  understood.    All  Euroj)e 


GOETHE.  311 

dissolved  in  a  gusli  of  emotion  over  its  pages.  It  was 
hailed  as  the  triumph  and  justification  of  the  senti- 
mental school,  and  a  whole  literature  of  imitations, 
parodies  and  criticisms  followed  it. 

Although  we  cannot  divide  the  literary  life  of  Goethe 
into  periods,  like  that  of  Schiller,  because  his  growth  was 
not  only  steady  and  symmetrical,  but  also  because  some 
of  his  faculties  were  nearly  perfect  at  the  start,  yet  there 
are  occasional  pauses  in  his  activity  and  variations  in  its 
character.  The  one  important  change  in  his  external 
life  now  occurred.  In  September,  1775,  the  Duke  Karl 
August  invited  Goethe  to  visit  him  at  Weimar.  This 
visit,  which  lasted  two  months,  was  followed  by  an  invi- 
tation to  accept  a  permanent  situation  at  the  Court,  with 
the  title  of  Privy  Councillor,  and  a  salary  of  twelve 
hundred  thalers  a  year.  In  spite  of  his  father's  opposi- 
tion, Goethe  accepted  the  offer,  and  thenceforth  "Weimar 
was  his  home.  The  appointment  of  an  untitled  poet  to 
a  place  which  tradition  required  to  be  filled  only  by  a 
noble,  was  a  great  scandal  throughout  Germany ;  but 
the  wild  and  rather  grotesque  life  led  by  the  Duke  and 
Goethe  gave  much  greater  offence.  Their  chief  object 
seemed  to  be,  to  violate  all  the  sacred  conventionalities 
of  German  courts.  They  appeared  in  society  in  top- 
boots,  cracked  whips  together  in  the  public  market- 
place, plunged  into  the  river  Ilm  at  midnight,  and  con- 
ducted themselves  altogether  more  like  boys  playing 
truant  than  a  pair  of  dignified  personages.     For  some 


312  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

years  Goethe's  productiveness  slackened,  because  tliere 
was  now  no  external  incitement,  and  the  internal  im- 
pulse gave  way,  for  a  time,  to  his  hearty  delight  in 
active  j)hysical  life.  It  was  his  habit  to  carry  a  poetical 
conception  for  a  long  time  in  his  brain,  allowing  it  to 
develop  by  its  own  force,  until  the  proper  mood  and 
leisure  for  its  delivery  arrived:  then  it  was  put  into 
words  with  a  rapidity  and  artistic  completion  which 
astonished  his  friends,  who  did  not  guess  how  much  of 
the  labor  had  been  silently  performed  in  advance.  So, 
now,  while  he  seemed  indolent,  the  dramatic  poems  of 
"  Iphigenie  auf  Tauris,"  "  Tasso,"  and  "Egmont"  were 
in  progress,  and  portions  of  the  first  two  were  even 
written  in  prose.  After  three  years  of  free,  unrestrained 
life  with  the  Duke,  he  began  to  weary  of  balls,  hunts 
and  picnics,  and  withdrew  more  and  more  from  the 
society  of  the  Court.  He  was  eight  years  older  than 
the  Duke,  and  "  the  intoxication  of  youth  "  (to  use  his 
own  words)  was  over  with  him  that  much  earlier.  The 
inseparable  companionship  was  broken  off,  although 
the  Duke  was  steadfast  in  his  friendship.  In  1782, 
Goethe  was  made  President  of  the  Chamber,  and  en- 
nobled. The  death  of  his  father,  in  the  same  year, 
having  made  him  comparatively  wealthy,  he  deter- 
mined to  carry  out  his  long-cherished  plan  of  a  jour- 
ney to  Italy ;  but  four  years  still  intervened  before 
he  succeeded  in  leaving  Weimar.  During  this  time  he 
began  to  write  his  philosophical  romance  of  "  Wilhdm 


GOETHE.  313 

Meister"  wliicli  was  not  published  until  long  after- 
wards. 

At  last,  in  1786,  secretly  and  under  an  assumed  name, 
lie  set  out  for  Italy,  where  he  remained  for  nearly  two 
years,  residing  alternately  in  Venice,  Florence,  Rome, 
Naples  and  Sicily.  It  ajDjoears  to  have  been  a  period 
of  pure  and  perfect  enjoyment.  After  ten  years  of  dis- 
tractions, his  time  was  wholly  his  own.  He  practised 
painting,  for  which  he  always  had  a  passion,  studied 
classic  art,  correcting  and  elevating  thereby  his  poetic 
ideal,  and  worked  faithfully  upon  the  plans  he  had  car- 
ried with  him.  The  "  Ipliigenie  auf  Tauris  "  and  "  Eg- 
mont "  were  completed,  and  "  Tasso  "  commenced,  before 
he  visited  Sicily.  I  have  seen  an  original  manuscript 
letter,  which  he  wrote  from  Naples  to  his  servant  in 
Weimar,  giving  as  minute  and  enthusiastic  an  account 
of  his  literary  labors,  as  if  it  had  been  written  to  a 
brother  author.  His  little  song  of  "  Kennst  du  das 
Land''  expresses  the  strength  of  the  longing  which 
drew  him  to  Italy,  and  he  was  not  deceived  in  the 
real  experience.  When,  in  1788,  he  left  Italy  to 
return  to  Weimar,  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  regret  so 
strong  that  he  was  positively  unhappy  for  months 
afterwards. 

The  "  Ipliigenie  auf  Tauris,"  which  now  appeared,  is 
one  of  the  noblest  dramatic  poems  in  any  language.  As 
Schiller  truly  said,  it  is  not  Greek,  but  neither  can  it 
be  called  German.     It  moves  in  a  higher  region  than 


314  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

tliat  wliere  the  signs  of  time  and  race  may  still  be  read. 
From  the  opening  lines  : 

"  Hinaus  in  eu're  Schatten,  rege  Wipfel 
Des  alten,  lieil'geD,  dicht-belaubten  Haines," 

to  the  closing  farewell  of  Thoas,  the  reader  breathes 
the  purest  ether  of  poetry.  Its  grandeur  is  inherent  in 
the  lines,  and  its  finest  passages  seem  to  exist  of  them- 
selves, rather  than  to  have  been  elaborated  by  the 
thought  of  years.  It  is  a  poem  in  dramatic  form,  not  a 
drama ;  and  the  same  distinction  will  apply  to  "  Tasso." 
Neither  is  adapted  to  the  stage.  "  IpMgenie''  was  act- 
ed by  the  Court  at  Weimar,  Goethe  taking  the  part  of 
Orestes,  and  the  Duke  that  of  Pylades  ;  but  at  Weimar 
Sophocles  was  performed, — the  high  cultivation  which 
prevailed  there  rendering  even  that  possible.  "  Tasso  " 
may  also  be  called  a  psycliological  study.  It  is  almost 
without  action,  and  is  monotonous  in  tone,  but  it 
abounds  in  fine  passages.  It  is  a  poem,  however,  which 
will  never  be  generally  appreciated,  except  by  poets. 
In  "  Egmont "  Goethe  achieved  a  theatrical  success. 
This  tragedy  is  still  more  frequently  performed  than 
any  of  his  other  dramas. 

Three  such  works  as  these  should  have  placed  Goethe 
at  once  at  the  head  of  German  literature  ;  but  they  seem 
to  have  made  an  impression  upon  a  comparatively  small 
number,  at  the  time  of  their  appearance.  The  author's 
genius  was  felt  everywhere,  but  it  disturbed  to  a  greater 


GOETHE.  315 

extent  tlian  it  gave  deliglit.  He  stood  almost  alone  : 
Klopstock  was  unfriendly,  Herder  was  jealous  and  sen- 
sitive, Schiller  was  still  shy  and  doubtful,  and  Wieland, 
who  never  was  else  than  a  large-hearted  friend,  could 
give  him  no  satisfactory  support.  Although,  fifteen 
years  before,  the  nerves  of  all  Europe  had  been  shat- 
tered by  his  "  Werther,"  and  his  name  was  as  well 
known  as  that  of  Rousseau  or  Voltaire,  yet,  when  the 
collected  edition  of  his  works  was  published  in  Leipzig, 
in  1790,  —  an  edition  containing  "  Goiz"  "IpMgenie'' 
«  Tasso,"  "  Egmont;'  much  of  the  First  Part  of  "  Faust;' 
and  his  exquisite  songs  and  lyrics — the  publisher  com- 
plained that  the  sale  was  not  sufficient  to  pay  his  ex- 
penses !  Those  whom  he  had  offended,  or  who  were 
jealous  of  his  genius  or  his  fortune,  now  formed  quite 
a  large  class,  including  many  authors  in  the  flush  of  a 
transient  popularity.  He  never  betrayed  his  feelings 
in  such  matters,  but  it  is  evident  that  his  exclusive 
devotion  to  science  for  some  years  was  partly  the  con- 
sequence of  a  discouragement  in  regard  to  his  literary 
work.  It  is  hardly  within  my  province,  at  present,  to 
speak  of  Goethe  as  a  man  of  science,  but  I  may  at  least 
mention  that  his  studies  in  osteology  had  already  re- 
sulted in  his  discovery  of  the  inter-maxillary  bone ; 
that  his  studies  in  botany  led  him  to  the  composition 
of  a  really  important  work  on  the  "  Metamorphoses  of 
Plants,"  and  that  his  "  Science  of  Colors  "  was  for  a 
while  accepted  (though  not  generally  by  opticians)  as 


316  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

having  superseded  Newton's.  He  was  an  eager  if  not 
a  very  tliorough  observer ;  but,  being  a  poet,  lie  was 
sometimes  inclined  to  depend  ratlier  on  liis  scientific 
intuitions  tlian  on  the  laborious  observation  of  Nature. 
In  tliis  respect  lie  differed  from  Humboldt,  while  he 
resembled  him  in  his  insatiable  thirst  for  knowledge 
and  his  untiring  industry.  We  cannot  say  that  the 
time  he  devoted  to  natural  science  was  lost,  even  if  it 
had  been  less  fruitful  in  results,  for  at  the  same  time 
he  made  himself  acquainted  with  the  metaphysical  sys- 
tems of  Kant,  Fichte  and  Hegel,  and  all  those  bones 
and  stones  kept  him  close  to  solid  fact  while  his  mind 
was  occupied  with  pure  intellectual  speculations.  He 
was  never  German  enough  to  lose  his  way  in  those 
misty  realms,  yet  it  was  certainly  an  advantage  to  have 
a  basis  of  reality  under  his  feet. 

In  1794  nearly  six  years  after  Goethe's  first  interview 
with  Schiller,  the  two  came  together  again — this  time, 
only  to  be  separated  by  death.  It  was  not  long  before 
the  effect  of  this  close  intercourse  with  another  spirit, 
as  restlessly  creative  as  his  own,  began  to  show  itself 
in  Goethe's  return  to  poetry.  He  was  then  about  pub- 
lishing the  first  part  of  "  WilJiehn  Meister  " — the  "  Lehr- 
jalire'"  or  "Apprenticeship," — and  Schiller's  friendly 
intelligent  criticism  of  the  work  in  manuscript  was  an 
encouragement  which  he  had  not  felt  for  years.  This 
work,  which  has  been  admirably  translated  by  Carlyle, 
might  be  called  a  philosophical  romance.     It  is  a  sin- 


GOETHE.  317 

gular  compound  of  pictures  of  life,  so  plain  and  realistic 
that  they  sometimes  become  actually  coarse,  with  theo- 
ries of  society,  labor  and  education  so  refined  that  they 
frequently  lose  all  practical  character.  The  faults  of 
the  work  are  as  positive  as  its  beauties ;  but  it  had  no 
antetype  in  literature.  Parts  of  it,  such  as  the  episode 
of  Mignon,  the  criticism  on  Hamlet,  and  the  detached 
aphorisms  scattered  through  it,  are  generally  known 
and  admired,  but  the  work,  as  a  whole,  is  only  relished 
by  those  readers  who  are  able  to  think  for  themselves 
while  they  follow  the  thoughts  of  another.  By  a  large 
class  it  is  considered  immoral,  because  some  of  the 
characters  introduced  are  not  always  better  than  they 
should  be.  The  best  answer  to  this  charge  is  given  by 
one  of  Goethe's  most  intelligent  critics.  "In  '  Wilhelm 
3Ieister,' '''  he  says,  "there  is  a  comj^lete  absence  of 
all  moral  verdict  on  the  part  of  the  author.  Charac- 
ters tread  the  stage,  events  j)ass  before  our  eyes,  things 
are  done,  and  thoughts  are  expressed  ;  but  no  word 
comes  from  the  author  respecting  the  moral  bearing  of 
those  things.  Life  forgets  in  activity  all  moral  verdict. 
The  good  is  beneficent,  but  no  one  praises  it ;  the  bad 
works  evil, but  no  one  anathematizes  it."  This  descrip- 
tion is  entirely  correct,  and  it  would  apply  equally  to 
much  of  Shakespeare.  Our  American  taste  of  the  pres- 
ent day  would  hardly  be  satisfied  with  a  fiction,  wherein 
the  good  and  the  bad  characters  are  simply  presented, 
as  we  see  them  in  ordinary  life.     An  author's  principles 


318  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

are  suspected  unless  lie  denounces  tlie  one  and  praises 
tlie  other, — or,  at  least,  heightens  the  colors  so  that  we 
shall  detect  the  undercurrent  of  his  own  preferences. 
No  man,  however,  will  ever  read  "  Wilhelm  Meister  "  as 
he  reads  a  certain  class  of  modern  romances,  for  the 
sake  of  gratifying  an  immoral  taste  :  to  all  except  per- 
sons of  genuine  intellect  and  culture,  it  is  a  sealed  book. 
Another  result  of  Goethe's  intercourse  with  Schiller 
was  the  re-awakening  of  his  lyrical  genius.  He  himself 
compares  the  effect  upon  his  poetic  faculty  to  that  of  a 
second  spring,  wherein  a  thousand  germs  of  thought, 
long  lying  dormant,  suddenly  sprouted  and  blossomed. 
A  conception  which  once  entered  his  brain  never  was 
forgotten.  Even  the  idea  of  a  simple  little  ballad  would 
linger  with  him  for  years.  So  when  Schiller  and  he 
agreed  to  write  a  number  of  brief  narrative  poems,  he 
had  only  to  free  his  mind  of  the  material  which  had 
already  accumulated  there.  Some  of  his  finest  and 
most  celebrated  poems — such  as  "  Die  Brant  von  Cor- 
inth''' (The  Bride  of  Corinth),  "  Der  Gott  und  die 
Bajadere''  (The  God  and  the  Bayadere),  ''Der  Fisclier" 
(The  Fisher),  and  "  Der  ErlUnig  "  (The  Erl-King)  were 
written  at  this  time.  He  also  arranged  for  Schiller's 
periodical,  "The  Hours,"  two  collections  of  short  ejDi- 
grammatic  poems,  written  in  the  classic  distich,  and 
called  ^'Die  RomiscJien  Elegien"  (The  Koman  Elegies) 
and  ''Die  Vier  Jahreszeiten"  (The  Four  Seasons).  These 
are   masterpieces  of    poetic  art.     They,  and  Schiller's 


GOETHE.  319 

noLle  poem  of  "  Der  Spaziergang  "  have  naturalized  the 
ancient  elegiac  measure  in  the  German  language.  The 
only  successful  English  example  I  know  of,  is  in  the 
short  introductory  passages  of  Clough's  "Amours  de 
Voyage."  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  quoting  a 
few  couplets  from  the  "  Jahreszeiten  "  : ' 


"  Auf,  itr  Disticlien,  friscli !     Ihr  mantern  lebendigen  Knaben  1 
Reich  ist  Garten  und  Feld  !     Blumen  zum  Kranze  lierbei  I 


Reicli  ist  an  Blumen  die  Flur  ;  docli  einige  sind  nur  dem  Auge, 
Andre  dcm  Herzen  nur  schon  ;  wJlhle  dir,  Leser,  nun  selbst  I 


Eosenknospe,  du  bist  dem  bliibenden  Madclien  gewidmet. 
Die  als  die  Herrlicbste  sich,  als  die  Bescheidenste  zeigt. 


Viele  der  Veilcben  zusammen  gekniipft,  das  Strllusscben  erscbeint 
Erst  als  Blume ;   du  bist,  biiuslicbes  Mildchen,  gemeint. 


Eine  kannt'  icb,  sie  war  wie  die  Lilie  scblank,  und  ibr  Stolz  war 
Unschuld  ;  berrlicber  hat  Salomo  Keine  gesehn. 


Scbon  erbebt  sich  der  Agley  und  senkt  das  Kcipfchcn  bcrunter. 
Ist  es  Qef  iibl  ?   oder  ist's  Muthwill  ?     Ibr  rathet  es  nicht." 

I  regret  that  I  cannot  find  a  translation  of  "The  God 
and  the  Bayadere  "  which  at  all  reproduces  its  compact 
power  of  expression  and  its  majestic  rhythm  ;  indeed, 
these  minor  poems  of  Goethe  almost  defy  translation. 


320  GERM  Air  LITERATURE. 

In  many  of  tliem  tlie  sentiment  is  as  airy  and  delicate, 
tlie  charm  as  easy  to  feel  and  as  difficult  to  define,  as  in 
the  songs  of  Shakespeare.  His  mastery  over  all  the 
powers  and  possibilities  of  the  language  was  so  marvel- 
ous, that  an  almost  equal  mastery  of  the  resources  of 
the  English  language  is  required  in  one  who  attempts 
to  reproduce  them. 

A  few  years  ago,  among  the  correspondence  of  the 
publisher  Vieweg,  of  Brunswick,  a  letter  of  Goethe's  was 
found,  consisting  of  these  two  sentences:  "If  you  are 
willing  to  publish  the  contents  of  the  accompanying 
sealed  package,  send  me  two  hundred  ducats  (about 
eight  hundred  dollars).  If  you  decline,  return  the  pack- 
age with  the  seals  unbroken."  This  was  a  hard  condi- 
tion for  the  publisher  :  he  deliberated  a  day  or  two, 
then  sent  the  two  hundred  ducats,  and  opened  the 
package.  It  contained  the  pastoral  epic  of  "  Hermann 
vnd  DorotJietf,"  one  of  Goethe's  most  perfect  works.  We 
haj)pen  to  know,  through  his  correspondence  with 
Schiller  and  others,  the  manner  in  which  it  was  written. 
Goethe  had  finished  the  "  AcMUeis,"  which  we  can  only 
call  an  imitation  of  Homer,  and  was  encouraged  b}- 
Schiller  to  write  a  poem  on  the  subject  of  Nausikiia. 
But  the  work  dragged ;  by  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing, Goethe  turned  to  the  life  of  his  own  day,  took  up 
a  subject  which  had  been  waiting  six  or  seven  years  in 
his  brain,  planned  and  arranged  it  during  his  official 
journeys  through  the  Duchy,  and  then  wrote  it  in  the 


GOETHE.  321 

course  of  a  few  weeks  of  summer  leisure.  We  liave  his 
own  word  for  the  statement  that  more  than  half  of  it 
was  written  in  nine  consecutive  days.  It  was  one  of 
his  most  fortunate  inspirations.  The  perplexed  pub- 
lisher was  lucky  in  his  venture,  for  the  poem  not  only 
revived  Goethe's  popularity,  but  stamped  upon  the 
literary  circles  of  Germany  the  impression  of  his  true 
power.  "  Hermann  and  Dorothea  "  is  the  simplest  pos- 
sible idyl  of  common  life.  The  characters  of  the  par- 
ents, the  young  man  and  the  maiden,  the  clergyman 
and  the  apothecary  are  drawn  with  exquisite  truth  and 
reality ;  the  measure  is  fluent  as  prose,  yet  flatters  the 
ear  like  rhyme ;  the  language  is  the  simplest  possible, 
poetic  in  its  essence,  not  from  ornament,  and  the  events 
of  the  story,  occupying  not  more  than  two  days,  are  so 
naturally  and  artlessly  evolved,  that  the  reader  follows 
them  with  pure  and  perfect  enjoyment,  from  beginning 
to  end.  I  care  not  what  may  be  said  against  the  use 
of  hexameter  in  modern  literature  :  in  "  Hermann  and 
Dorothea"  it  is  a  thorough  success.  Goethe  under- 
stood, as  many  poets  do  not,  the  importance  of  form 
as  a  vehicle  of  thought.  With  all  his  acquired  self- 
control,  his  intellectual  nature  was  as  sensitive  as  a 
wind-harp  to  the  lightest  breeze  of  imagination;  but 
he  had  the  power  of  retaining  every  passing  strain, 
every  fugitive  tone,  until  they  grew  to  a  connected 
melody.  Then  he  sought  for  the  one  form  which  might 
most  fitly  express  it,  very  much  as  the  sculptor  seeks 
14* 


322  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

for  a  living  model,  to  assist  in  bringing  out  tlie  ideal 
figure  in  liis  brain.  He  never  lost  siglit  of  the  real 
truth  of  Nature,  but  tlie  commonest  scenes  and  events, 
in  passing  tlirougli  bis  mind  are  saturated  witli  a  subtle 
element  of  poetry.  This  is  nowhere  so  wonderfully 
illustrated  as  in  "  Hermann  and  Dorothea,"  and  w^e  can 
readily  understand  that  it  was  that  one  of  his  works  to 
which  he  turned  with  the  most  satisfaction  in  his  old  age. 

After  Schiller's  death,  in  1805,  Goethe  lost  for  a  time 
his  interest  in  literature.  "Within  a  year  and  a  half  the 
battle  of  Jena  occurred,  and  Weimar  was  sacked  by  the 
French  army.  It  was  perhaps  the  insecurity  of  his  life 
at  the  time  which  led  him  to  marry  the  mother  of  his 
son,  with  whom  he  had  been  living  for  seventeen  years 
■ — or,  rather,  the  sense  of  insecurity  led  her  to  consent 
to  the  marriage,  which  she  had  refused  up  to  that  time. 
Nothing  in  Goethe's  life  has  been  so  misunderstood 
and  misrepresented  as  his  relation  to  Christiane  Yul- 
pius.  When  I  was  last  in  Weimar,  I  discovered  a  great 
many  facts  which  throw  an  entirely  new  light  on  this 
subject.  Christiane  was  an  uneducated  woman,  from  a 
much  lower  rank  in  society ;  but  she  understood  Goethe's 
nature  as  no  one  else  did. 

Goethe's  first  important  work,  after  the  death  of 
Schiller,  was  his  novel  of  the  "  Walilverivandtschxiften,'^ 
which  has  been  translated  "  The  Elective  Affinities." 
It  is  much  more  compact,  and,  as  a  story,  more  co- 
herent than  "  Wilhelm  3Ieistei\"     His  scientific  pursuits 


GOETHE.  323 

absorbed  a  great  deal  of  Lis  time  during  the  early  years 
of  this  century,  but  he  found  time  to  write  an  autobi- 
ography under  the  title  of  "  WaJirheit  unci  DicJitung  " 
(Truth  and  Fiction),  and  in  his  sixty-fifth  year  com- 
menced the  study  of  the  Persian  and  the  Arabic  lan- 
guages. At  a  time  when  the  world  supposed  that  the 
period  of  his  poetic  activity  was  over,  his  "  Wesf- 
OstlicJier  Divan,''  suddenly  appeared.  It  is  a  collec- 
tion of  short  poems,  two  or  three  hundred  in  num- 
ber, German  in  spirit  and  Oriental  in  character.  In 
them  the  fire  of  a  second  youth  glows  and  throbs 
through  the  wisdom  of  age.  Some  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful brief  lyrics  he  ever  wrote  are  contained  in  this  col- 
lection. This  was  the  source  whence  Count  Platen  and 
Eiickert  drew  their  Oriental  inspiration.  The  impression 
it  produced  was  so  strong  that  it  almost  created  a  new 
fashion  in  literature.  By  this  time  Goethe  had  outlived 
the  jealousy  and  the  enmity  which  had  so  long  assailed 
him.  Kotzebue  was  powerless ;  Novalis  and  Nicolai 
were  dead  ;  Schlegel  was  silent ;  the  Stolbergs  were  for- 
gotten ;  and  a  new  generation  had  grown  up,  to  whom 
the  poet  was  an  acknowledged  power.  The  race  was  not 
yet  sufficiently  developed  to  appreciate  his  best  work, 
but  they  could  reverence  without  reaching  that  point. 
He  had  also  withdrawn  from  official  duties.  His  time 
was  his  own ;  society  came  to  him  at  his  own  conveni- 
ence, and  his  life  thenceforth  was  quiet,  serene,  yet  still 
unweariedly  active. 


324  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

He  conducted  a  periodical  called  "  Kunst  und  Alter- 
thum,"  (Art  and  Antiquity),  and  wrote  a  number  of 
scientific  essays,  but  undertook  no  larger  work  until 
after  his  seventieth  year,  when  he  completed  "  WilJielm 
3Ieister"  From  his  seventy-fifth  to  his  eighty-first 
year,  he  wrote  the  Second  Part  of  "  Fau§t"  dictated 
his  "  Annals,"  and  revised  the  complete  edition  of  his 
works,  in  forty  volumes.  It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  show- 
ing the  little  protection  accorded  to  literature  in  Ger- 
many during  the  lives  of  her  greatest  authors,  that  this 
complete  edition  could  only  be  secured  against  reprints 
by  other  publishers,  through  a  sj)ecial  act  of  the  Ger- 
man Diet,  which  was  granted  in  1826.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  Goethe  received  more  than  twenty  or  thirty 
thousand  dollars  from  his  works  during  the  whole  of 
his  life ;  but  his  grand-children  received  fortunes  from 
them. 

The  end  came  slowly  on,  like  the  sinking  of  the  sun, 
in  a  cloudless  sky.  In  1828  the  Duke,  Karl  August, 
died ;  soon  after,  his  widow,  the  Duchess  Luise ;  then, 
Goethe's  only  son,  and  he  was  left  alone,  still  grand 
and  erect  in  body,  and  with  every  sign  of  intellectual 
vigor.  He  was  one  of  the  handsomest  men  that  ever 
lived  :  the  bust  taken  in  Rome  is  finer  than  the  head  of 
the  Apollo.  Even  eighty  years  could  not  bend  his  figure 
or  dim  the  splendor  of  his  dark-brown  eyes :  the  Apollo 
had  only  grown  into  the  Olympian  Jove.  Eiickert,  in 
a  noble  poem,  wished  for  him  the  fate  of  the  Persian 


GOETHE.  325 

poets,  Saadi  and  Djami,  who  counted  a  hundred  jears, 
but  some  hidden  part  of  the  machinery  had  worn  out, 
and  a  very  slight  cause  brought  it  to  a  full  stop.  He 
died  on  the  22d  of  March,  1832,  in  his  eighty-third 
year. 

Karl  August  directed  in  his  will,  that  his  body  should 
be  placed  between  those  of  Goethe  and  Schiller.  This 
was  more  than  the  rigid  laws  of  German  Courts  could 
endure  :  the  will  was  disregarded.  The  two  poets  rest 
side  by  side,  in  the  Ducal  vault,  but  at  a  proper  dis- 
tance from  the  reigning  family.  Yet  their  sarcophagi, 
and  that  of  their  one  princely  friend,  are  those  which 
draw  reverent  strangers  to  the  vault,  and  which  are 
always  freshly  crowned  with  garlands. 

In  comparing  Goethe  with  Homer  and  Shakespeare,  I 
mean  to  assert  his  equal  and  independent  supremacy, 
without  claiming  for  him  precisely  the  qualities  which 
made  them  great.  In  intellectual  character,  he  is  as  far 
removed  from  either  as  each  is  from  the  other.  Homer 
is  specially  epic,  Shakespeare  specially  dramatic,  and 
in  Goethe  we  find  the  highest  equal  development  of  all 
the  powers  of  the  human  mind.  The  word  "  many- 
sided,"  which  the  Germans  apply  to  him,  is  not  an  ade- 
quate description.  The  general  rule  among  men  seems 
to  be  that  achievement  is  the  result  of  concentrated 
effort  in  one  direction.  Goethe  reversed  this  rule  ;  the 
broader  his  field  of  action  became,  the  more  splendid 
was  his  achievement.     One  cause  of  this  phenomenon 


32G  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

will  be  found  in  a  quality  which  formed  the  very  basis 
of  his  nature.  He  was  never  satisfied  until  he  had  as- 
certained the  positive  reality  of  the  subject  of  his 
thought,  and  its  possible  relations  to  other  realities. 
His  fancy  and  imagination  were  so  healthy  and  so 
proportioned  to  his  perceptive  faculties,  that  their  ac- 
tivity was  only  exercised  ujDon  a  basis  of  real  form  or 
fact.  Those  vague  yet  splendid  moods  of  the  mind,  in 
which  some  poets  indulge,  were  never  known  to  him — 
or,  if  he  knew  them,  he  never  gave  them  exj)ression. 
With  the  Swedish  Tegner,  he  believed  that 

"  The  obscurely  uttered  is  the  obscurely  thought. " 

We  find  the  same  realistic  element  in  other  poets,  but 
never  in  such  perfect  combination  with  the  highest 
qualities  of  the  imagination.  Edgar  Poe  thus  ad- 
dresses Science — 

"  true  daughter  of  old  Time  thou  art. 
Who  changest  all  things  with  thy  peering  eyes  I 
Why  prey'st  thou  thus  upon  the  Poet's  heart. 
Vulture,  whose  wings  are  dull  realities  ?  " 

and  this  is  a  sort  of  conventional  sentiment  with  all 
minor  poets.  Even  Schiller,  at  one  period  of  his  life, 
lamented — in  exquisite  verse,  it  is  true — the  dethrone- 
ment of  the  Ideal  by  the  Actual,  in  life.  Goethe,  how- 
ever, would  have  smiled,  and  answered  in  terms  like 
these :  "  Science  is  truth  and  Poetry  is  truth :  both 
are  infinite  and  inexhaustible  :  both  are  kindred  fields 


GOETHE.  327 

tlirougli  wliicli  tlie  human  approaclies  the  Divine  Mind, 
and  they  can  never  be  antagonistic  in  a  healthy  nature. 
Poetry  is  not  an  exotic  plant,  brought  down  to  our  life 
from  some  warmer  region,  and  to  be  kept  alive  with  arti- 
ficial heat ;  it  springs  from  and  clothes  all  human  life 
with  color  and  sweetness,  as  grass  and  daisies  cover 
the  whole  earth."  Goethe  could  have  analyzed  the 
earth  in  which  the  rose  is  planted,  and  prepared  a 
mathematical  table  of  its  ingredients  ;  he  could  then 
have  dissected  the  rose  as  a  botanist,  showing  the  met- 
amorphoses by  which  the  stem  becomes  the  leaf  and 
the  leaf  the  blossom ;  and  finally,  letting  Science  rest, 
while  Fancy  arose,  fresh  for  the  task,  he  could  embalm 
the  beauty  and  sentiment  of  the  rose  in  immortal 
verse. 

I  think  this  might  be  called  one  of  the  undeveloped 
qualities  of  Shakespeare.  The  point  wherein  the  two 
poets  touch  is  their  power  of  assimilating  all  their 
acquired  knowledge,  and  using  it  in  the  service  of 
poetry.  Neither  is  afraid  of  descending  to  the  com- 
monest and  coarsest  realism,  yet  either  can  soar  as 
lightly  as  a  lark  into  the  highest  and  purest  spiritual 
atmosphere.  Both  minds  claimed  the  largest  liberty, 
and  used  it  as  of  right.  They  walked  over  the  earth,  as 
if  bare-headed  and  bare-handed,  taking  the  brand  of 
the  sun,  the  dust  of  the  highway  and  the  beating  of  the 
storm  upon  their  brows — in  the  strongest  contrast  to 
those  minds  which  always  seem  to  go  abroad  in  white 


328  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

kid  gloves  and  patent-leatlier  boots,  with  an  umbrella 
for  the  sun  and  a  theoretical  Mackintosh  for  the  rain. 

There  is  another  sense  which  Shakespeare  possessed 
by  nature,  and  could  only  develop  by  such  helps  as 
were  possible  in  his  life  ;  while  Goethe,  possessing  it 
equally,  was  able,  through  his  greater  fortune,  to  bring 
it  to  the  highest  and  noblest  activity.  I  mean  that  ele- 
ment of  proportion  which  was  first  discovered  by  the 
Greek  mind ;  that  adjustment  of  parts  to  the  whole,  of 
form  to  spirit,  which  we  call  the  artistic  sense.  While 
Shakespeare  was  poaching,  Goethe  was  reading  Win- 
ckelmann  and  Lessing ;  while  Shakespeare  was  specu- 
lating in  wool,  Goethe  was  studying  the  antique  mar- 
bles in  the  halls  of  the  Vatican :  while  Shakespeare  was 
desiring  "  this  man's  art  and  that  man's  scope,"  Goethe 
could  look  abroad  and  say  :  "  It  is  because  none  reach 
my  art  and  my  scope,  that  so  few  fully  comprehend 
me."  With  such  a  vast  variety  of  interests  as  he  main- 
tained throughout  his  whole  life,  many  of  his  lighter 
works  are  faulty  in  construction,  but  nothing  which 
matured  properly  in  his  mind  is  without  its  underlying 
law.  Indeed,  most  of  the  fragments  which  he  left  have 
the  roundness  and  the  polish  of  pebbles  of  thought, 
smoothed  by  attrition  in  the  strong  current  of  his  mind. 
This  is  not  mere  finish  ;  it  also  includes  fullness,  as  the 
veins  in  a  pebble  may  suggest  the  strata  in  a  quarry. 
Many  of  his  detached  utterances  thus  hint  of  a  broad 
back-ground  of  thought.     Take  a  single  one  as  a  speci- 


GOETHE.  329 

men,  tliougli  I  must  cripple  its  force  by  turning  it  into 
prose  :  "  Timid  wavering  of  nerveless  thought,  effemi- 
nate irresolution,  anxious  lamentation,  turn  away  no 
misfortune  from  thee,  cannot  liberate  thee.  To  hold 
one's  self  erect,  defying  all  forces,  never  swaying,  show- 
ing original  strength,  brings  down  the  arms  of  the  Gods 
in  aid ! " 

Here  is  another :  "Impatience  is  of  no  service  :  still 
less  remorse.  The  latter  increases  the  offense — the 
former  creates  new  ones." 

I  have  purposely  compared  Goethe  with  Shakespeare 
in  these  two  particulars,  because  in  the  dramatic  pre- 
sentation of  character  he  is  inferior  to  that  greatest  of 
all  masters.  Shakespeare  is  universal  in  his  apprehen- 
sion of  human  nature  :  Goethe  is  universal  in  his  ran^e  of 
intellectual  capacities  and  in  his  culture.  One  is  greater, 
the  other  is  riper.  Goethe  lacks  two  elements  of  suc- 
cess as  a  dramatist — inventive  genius  and  rapidity  of 
movement.  After  "  Egmont,"  which  was  an  effort  to 
overcome  his  natural  deficiencies,  but  which  cannot  be 
called  a  comj)lete  success,  he  gave  more  attention  to 
dramatic  poems  than  to  acting  plays.  He  was  an  ad- 
mirable critic,  and  his  counsels  helped  to  make  Schil- 
ler's "  JFcIIensfein"  what  it  is  ;  yet  it  is  doubtful  whe- 
ther the  material  of  "  JVallensicin,"  in  his  own  hands, 
would  have  been  as  satisfactorily  modelled  as  by  Schil- 
ler. I  do  not  mean  to  undervalue  the  genius  which 
he   manifested   in   both    "  Gofz   von   Bcrlickinrjcn "  and 


330  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

"  EgmontJ"  They  are  very  important  works  ;  but  tliey 
lack  the  equal  power  and  completeness  of  such  poems 
as  " fyhigenie  auf  Tauris "  or  " Hermann  und  Dorothea" 
He  had  dramatic  genius;  he  had  the  power  of  illus- 
trating by  the  force  of  contrast,  and  the  power  of  pre- 
senting characters  in  their  proper  objective  independ- 
ence ;  yet  it  seems  that  there  were  differences  of  action 
in  the  combination  of  his  many  gifts.  In  other  words, 
certain  forms  of  activity  were  more  free  and  natural  to 
him  than  others.  It  would  have  been  a  miracle  if  this 
had  not  been  so. 

I  have  already  alluded  to  Goethe's  habit  of  usifig 
every  form  of  his  own  personal  experience  of  life,  but 
only  after  the  feeling  which  accompanied  it  had  become 
a  memory.     He  prefaces  his  lyrics  with  the  couplet : 

Spjit  erklingt,  was  f riih  erklang.      Early  sounds  that  echo  long  : 
Gluckund  Ungliick  wirdGesang.      Joy  and  sorrow  turn  to  song. 

and  in  his  "  Trilogie  der  Leidenschaft  "  (Trilogy  of  Pas- 
sion), the  most  youthfully  fervid  poem  ever  written  by 
a  man  more  than  seventy  years  old,  are  the  lines  : 

Und  wenn  der  Mensch  in  seiner  While  men  their  torment  suffer, 
Qual  verstummt  and  are  dumb. 

Gab  mir  ein  Gott  zu  sagen,  was  A  God  gave  me  to  utter  mine  in 
ich  leide.  song. 

One  consequence  of  this  power  is  that  all  passion  in 
his  verse  obeys  the  supreme  law  of  proportion.  The 
keenest  emotions  are  expressed,  but  the  author  himself 


GOETHE.  331 

is  serene.  Calm  and  self-poised,  lie  paints  every  ecstasy 
or  every  pang  :  lie  does  not  attempt  to  revive  the  feel- 
ing, only  to  remember  it.  You  cannot  imagine  Lis  eye 
"rolling  in  a  fine  frenzy,"  as  he  writes — but  rather  the 
impartial  eye  of  a  spirit,  surveying  the  past  life  of 
earth.  Goethe  has  been  called  cold,  unsympathetic, 
selfish,  on  account  of  this  quality ;  and  I  must  admit 
that,  even  up  to  the  present  day,  a  large  class  of  per- 
sons are  unable  to  consider  it  in  any  other  light. 
There  are  a  great  many  who  hide  their  own  tears,  but 
expect  the  author  to  weep  in  public.  Now,  the  objec- 
tive treatment  of  one's  own  revelations  of  life,  or  of 
what  is  observed  in  the  lives  of  others,  is  the  highest 
achievement  of  literary  art.  Whatever  of  truth  is  thus 
presented,  has  a  general,  not  an  individual  significance  ; 
and  the  truth  that  dwells  in  passion  cannot  be  clearly 
seen  while  the  air  of  poetry  is  thick  with  the  very  cloud 
and  storm  of  passion  itself.  All  strong  emotion  sus- 
pends the  impartial  activity  of  the  intellect ;  and  this  is 
the  reason  why  eloquence  is  so  rarely  impartial. 

Although  Goethe  possessed  this  intellectual  serenity, 
as  we  may  call  it,  his  finer  faculties  were  no  more  under 
control  than  in  the  case  of  less  gifted  authors.  He 
could  not  say  to  the  Ariel  of  his  imagination  "  Come  !  " 
and  he  came ;  but  was  obliged  to  wait  the  pleasure  of 
the  beautiful  sprite.  As  his  habit  was  to  arrange  the 
plan  of  a  poem,  in  all  its  parts,  before  putting  it  into 
words,  he  was  thus  able   to  work  upon  any  part  of  it, 


332  GERMAIN  LITERATURE. 

according  to  his  mood.  After  a  certain  amount  of  prog- 
ress was  made,  the  manuscript  sheets  were  stitched 
together,  the  parts  not  yet  written  being  filled  out 
with  blank  paper  of  a  difierent  color ;  and  as  often  as 
one  of  these  sheets  was  removed  and  the  manuscript 
inserted  in  its  place,  Goethe  felt  himself  freshly  encour- 
aged to  go  on  with  the  work.  He  was  accustomed  to  say 
at  such  times  :  "  I  not  only  know,  in  my  own  mind,  how 
much  I  have  added,  but  it  is  now  palpable  to  my  exter- 
nal senses."  There  could  not  be  a  better  illustration  of 
his  equal  use  of  the  Real  and  the  Ideal. 

It  is  not  incumbent  upon  me,  now,  to  enter  into  an  ex- 
amination of  Goethe's  occasional  shortcomings.  Every- 
body knows  that  Homer  sometimes  nods,  and  that 
Shakespeare  sometimes  rants  ;  and  the  admission  that 
Goethe  has  occasionally  mistaken  coarseness  for  satire, 
or  gravity  for  wisdom,  cannot  effect  his  supreme  place 
in  literature.  Had  he  not  possessed  a  remarkable 
power  of  self-restraint,  he  would  doubtless  have  sinned 
more  frequentl}'.  His  position  at  Weimar,  for  the  first 
ten  years,  was  more  difficult  than  we  can  now  guess : 
when  it  had  been  stubbornly  acknowledged,  he  stood 
almost  alone  as  an  author  until  Schiller  came  to  his 
side :  during  the  excitement  which  followed  the  over- 
throw of  Napoleon,  he  was  denounced  as  an  enemy  of 
Germany  ;  and,  finally,  the  most  absolute  homage  came 
to  him  from  all  quarters,  giving  to  his  old  age  a  character 
of  literary  royalty  which  he  enjoyed  without  dispute. 


GOEIBE.  333 

A  lesser  genius  would  have  been  affected  by  this  per- 
versity of  circumstances ;  but  he,  "  standing  erect,  defy- 
ing all  forces,  never  swaying,  showing  original  strength, 
called  down  the  arms  of  the  gods  to  his  aid."  In  him, 
character  and  intellect  were  not  so  closely  united  as  in 
Lessing ;  his  vital  power  overran  into  wayward  im- 
pulses in  his  early  years,  and  sometimes  broke  away 
from  his  control  in  later  life  :  but  we  must  judge  a  man, 
after  all,  as  much  by  what  he  restrains  himself  from 
doing,  as  by  w^hat  he  does,  and  Goethe  has  as  much 
right  to  the  plea  of  multiim  dilexit  as  a  less  exalted  intel- 
ligence. As  a  mental  power,  he  was  splendidly  stead- 
fast. He  was  as  apt  at  detecting  shams  as  Carlyle,  but 
he  pierced  them  without  making  any  noise  about  it. 
So  far  as  he  assumes  to  teach  directly,  it  is  in  exact 
consonance  with  the  suggestions  of  all  his  highest 
works  ;  he  preaches  independence,  self-reliance,  toler- 
ance, mutual  help,  cheerful  acceptance  of  every  fortune, 
growth  as  a  necessity  of  being,  and  knowledge  as  a  ne- 
cessity of  growth. 

In  the  poetic  appreciation  of  Nature,  Goethe  has 
scarcely  an  equal  among  modern  authors.  The  trans- 
fer to  natural  objects  of  the  poet's  sentiment — the  reflec- 
tion in  them  of  his  varying  moods — the  creation  of  a 
sentient  spirit  beneath  the  forms  of  the  visible  world — 
all  this  belongs  to  modern  literature.  In  English  lite- 
rature it  virtually  originated  with  Cowper,  was  con- 
tinued by  Wordsworth,  made   popular  by  Byron  and 


334  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Shelley,  until  now  it  lias  become  tlie  inevitable  field 
wliicli  all  young  authors  endeavor  to  tread.  But  Goethe 
was  before  Cowper  and  "Wordsworth,  far  more  subtle 
and  intimate  than  the  former,  and  wholly  without  the 
air  of  purpose  which  we  cannot  help  feeling  in  many  of 
"Wordsworth's  descriptive  passages.  Goethe  presents 
Nature  to  us,  not  in  a  mere  catalogue  of  forms,  but 
with  all  the  more  elusive  influences  which  come  to  us 
through  light  and  odor,  and  atmosphere  and  perspec- 
tive. If  my  space  allowed  me,  I  could  give  many  in- 
stances of  the  delicate  instinct  which  enables  him  to 
suggest  a  landscape  in  a  single  line,  to  give  us  the  very 
soul  of  natural  objects  by  phrases  so  simple  that  they 
startle  while  they  charm. 

I  have  not  before  referred  to  "  Faust, ^'  because  it  was 
only  finished  with  Goethe's  life  ;  the  Second  Part  was 
first  published  after  his  death.  Without  studying  both 
parts,  no  one  can  understand  the  author's  plan.  The 
First  Part,  alone,  is  a  sublime  dramatic  fragment — the 
whole  is  a  complete  and  wonderful  poem.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  literature  of  any  country  with  which 
we  can  fairly  compare  it.  There  is  no  other  poem, 
which,  like  this,  was  the  work  of  a  whole  life,  and 
which  so  deals  with  the  profoundest  23roblems  of  all 
life.  It  is  so  universally  comprehensive  that  every 
reader  finds  in  it  reflections  of  his  faith  and  philosophy. 
I  have  the  essay  of  a  French  critic,  who  proves  it  to  be 
a  gospel  of  Pantheism :  I  have  the  work  of  a  Catholic 


GOETHE.  335 

professor,  wlio  is  equally  sure  tliat  it  sliows  Goethe's 
reverence  for  the  Church  of  Eome  :  I  have  the  work  of 
a  Lutheran  clergyman,  who  illustrates  its  Protestant 
orthodoxy  by  parallel  tests  from  the  Bible.  These 
criticisms  only  show  how  completely  it  stands  above 
all  barriers  of  sect,  all  schools  of  thought,  in  that  atmos- 
phere of  pure  humanity  where  there  is  no  dogma  to 
darken  God  to  the  eyes  of  men.  The  passions  and  in- 
dulgences of  youth  only  bring  Faust  remorse  :  place 
and  power  at  the  EmjDeror's  Court  fail  to  satisfy  him  :  the 
perception  of  Beauty — which,  after  all,  is  only  a  re- 
cognition of  the  Divine  harmony — first  elevates  and 
purifies  his  nature,  and  his  happy  moment  comes  at 
the  end,  as  the  result  of  an  unwearied  and  beneficent 
activity  for  the  sake  of  the  human  race,  aided  by  the 
Divine  love  which  is  freely  bestowed  upon  all  men. 

The  poem  embodies  all  the  finest  qualities  of  Goethe's 
mind, — his  rich,  ever-changing  rhythm,  his  mastery  over 
the  elements  of  passion,  his  simple  realism,  his  keen 
irony,  his  serene  wisdom  and  his  most  sacred  aspira- 
tion. The  more  it  is  studied,  the  wider  and  further  it 
spreads  its  intellectual  horizon,  until  it  grows  to  be  so 
far  and  dim  that  the  physical  and  the  spiritual  spheres 
are  blended  together.  Whoever  studies  "  Faust,"  in 
connection  with  the  works  of  the  other  German  authors, 
cannot  but  admit  that  the  critic  is  not  wholly  mistaken, 
who  asserts  that  the  single  elements  which,  separately, 
made  his  compeers  great,  have  combined  to  make  one 


336  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

man  greatest ; — that  Klopstock's  enricliment  of  tlio  lan- 
guage, Lessing's  boldness  and  clearness  of  vision,  Wie- 
land's  grace,  Herder's  universality,  and  Scliiller's  glory 
of  rliytlim  and  rhetoric,  are  all  united  in  the  immortal 
M^ork  of  Goethe  ! 

You  will  allow  me  to  close  this  incomplete  sketch 
with  some  lines  of  my  own  : 

Dear  is  the  Minstrel,  yet  tlie  Man  is  more  ; 
But  should  I  turn  the  pages  of  his  brain, 
The  lighter  muscle  of  my  verse  would  strain 

And  break  beneath  his  lore. 
How  charge  with  music  powers  so  vast  and  free, 

Save  one  be  great  as  he  ? 
Behold  him,  as  ye  jostle  with  the  throng 
Through  narrow  ways,  that  do  your  beings  wrong, — 
Self-chosen  lanes,  wherein  ye  press 

In  louder  Storm  and  Stress, 
Passing  the  lesser  bounty  by 
Because  the  greater  seems  too  high, 
And  that  sublimest  joy  forego. 

To  seek,  aspire,  and  know  ! 
Behold  in  him,  since  our  strong  line  began, 

The  first  full-statured  man  ! 
Dear  is  the  Minstrel,  even  to  hearts  of  prose  ; 
But  he  who  sets  all  aspiration  free. 

Is  dearer  to  humanity. 
Still  through  our  age  the  shadowy  Leader  goes  ; 
Still  whispers  cheer,  or  waves  his  warning  sign, — 

The  man  who,  most  of  men. 
Heeded  the  parable  from  lips  divine, 

And  made  one  talent  ten  ! 


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)  )  )  )  ) 


XI. 

GOETHE-S    "FAUST." 

There  are  a  few  poetic  works  which  possess  an  im- 
mortal vitality — which  so  represent  the  actions  and  the 
characters  of  men,  the  problem  of  human  nature,  or 
the  mysteries  of  human  life,  that  their  interest  never 
grows  old,  their  value  never  diminishes.  The  "  Iliad  " 
of  Homer,  Dante's  "Divina  Commedia"  Shakespeare's 
"  Hamlet  "  and  "  Othello,"  and  Goethe's  ''Faust "  be- 
long to  this  class.  Works  like  these  were  never  pro- 
duced simply  through  the  voluntary  action  of  the  mind : 
they  grew  by  an  inevitable  law,  attracting  to  them  the 
best  creative  intelligence  of  the  poet,  and,  when  com- 
pleted, were  greater  than  he  himself  could  know  ;  for 
he  stood  too  near  them  to  measure  their  proportions. 
The  truth  that  is  in  them  being  of  no  time  and  no  coun- 
try, only  touches  the  highest  intelligences  at  first,  and  is 
then  slowly  transmitted  to  still  wider  and  wider  circles. 
Goethe's  long  and  vigorous  life  enabled  him  to  watch 
the  impression  which  the  First  Part  of  ''Faust  "  gradu- 
ally produced  upon  the  world  ;  but  the  Second  Part, 
only  a  small  portion  of  which  was  published  before  his 
death,  is  not  yet  fully  understood  and  valued  as  it 
should  be,  even  by  the  most  cultivated  thinkers.  Stu- 
dents of  the  German  language  are  at  this  day  dissuaded 
15  337 


338  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

from  reading  it  on  the  ground  tliat  it  is  incomprehensi- 
ble ;  and  the  completion  of  his  sublime  plan  is  charged 
against  the  author  as  the  weak  mistake  of  his  old  age ! 

As  Goethe  is  the  dominant  figure  in  modern  German 
literature,  so  "Faust "  is  the  dominant  work  among  his 
many  creations.  It  is  the  one  conception  which  began 
to  fill  and  inspire  him  at  the  age  of  twentj-one,  and 
remained  with  him  until  he  sealed  up  the  last  pages  of 
the  manuscrijDt,  on  his  eighty-second  birthday.  Cher- 
ished thus  for  sixty-one  years,  his  whole  life  forms  the 
basis  upon  which  it  rests.  Xavier  Marmier,  the  distin- 
guished French  critic,  says  :  "It  was  the  chosen  work  of 
Goethe,  the  well-beloved  child  for  which  he  delighted 
to  gather  the  riches  of  science  and  the  precious  fruits  of 
inspiration.  It  was  the  bright  idea,  the  mistress  of  his 
youth,  the  companion  of  his  mature  age,  who  was 
accustomed  to  keep  watch  with  him,  to  visit  him  in  his 
dreams,  to  live  beside  him  in  solitude  and  society. 
He  bore  it  tenderly,  mysteriously  in  the  depth  of  his 
heart,  as  a  lover  bears  the  secret  of  his  first  love.  He 
did  not  reveal  its  growth,  neither  displayed  its  beauties 
nor  caprices  ;  happy  in  having  created  his  Galatea,  he 
took  pleasure  in  seeing  her  move  before  his  mind,  in 
warming  her  upon  his  bosom,  and  each  day  giving  her  a 
new  life  by  his  artistic  word,  but  he  kept  her  for  himself 
alone,  and  if  other  eyes  peered  too  closely,  he  drew  the 
curtain  before  his  masterpiece.  Sometimes  he  was 
sombre  and  thoughtful  in  the  midst  of  society,  for  he  was 


GOETHE' 8  "FAUST."  339 

thinking  of  Faust :  sometimes  a  king  came  to  see  liim, 
and  he  left  royalty  with  pleasure,  to  return  to  Faust." 

When  we  have  learned  Goethe's  plan,  we  also  per- 
ceive the  great  difficulties  connected  with  its  execution. 
"We  may  regret  that  portions  of  the  work  were  so  long 
delayed,  but  we  are  very  grateful  that  it  was  not  allowed 
to  remain  a  fragment.  The  Second  Part  is  only  obscure 
in  some  of  its  details :  one  clear  and  easily-traced 
design  runs  through  it,  and  the  close  is  a  solution  of 
that  which  is  unsolved  in  the  First  Part.  I  shall  there- 
fore consider  both  as  one  connected  work,  which  was 
Goethe's  intention,  although  neither  the  publishers,  the 
critics  nor  the  translators  pay  much  regard  to  it.  I 
prefer  to  give  a  briefer  review  of  the  whole  work  rather 
than  confine  myself  to  the  part  which  is  most  familiar, 
and  thus  only  imperfectly  explain  its  meaning. 

The  Legend  of  Dr.  Faustus  first  took  a  form  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  while  the  belief  in  witchcraft  and 
diabolical  agencies  was  still  prevalent  among  the  j3eo- 
ple.  The  earliest  edition  of  the  story,  upon  Avliich  all 
later  variations  were  based,  appeared  in  1587,  and  an 
English  translation  of  it,  publislied  in  1590,  furnished 
Marlow  with  the  material  for  his  tragedy,  wliicli  was 
first  acted  in  London,  I  believe,  in  1593.  Tliere  was  an 
actual  Dr.  Faust,  born  in  1490,  who  studied  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Wittenberg,  and  is  said  to  have  been  ac- 
quainted with  Melanchthon.  What  special  reasons  there 
were  for  making  him  the  hero  of  a  story,  cannot  be 


340  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

ascertained  with  any  certainty ;  but  the  charge  of  a 
compact  with  evil  spirits  was  frequently  made  against 
any  man  of  more  than  usual  knowledge.  Even  Luther 
believed  in  the  constant  activity  of  a  personal  and  visi- 
ble devil,  whom  he  imagined  he  sometimes  beheld. 

The  story  varies  in  different  versions,  but  it  is  sub- 
stantially this  :  Dr.  Faust  having  acquired  all  possible 
human  knowledge,  and  being  still  unsatisfied,  invoked 
Satan  to  grant  him  the  further  power  he  desired.  The 
fiend  appeared,  and  promised  to  serve  him  in  all  things 
for  four  and  twenty  years,  on  condition  of  receiving  his 
soul  at  the  end  of  that  time.  The  compact  was  made, 
and  signed  by  Faust  with  his  blood.  Then  commenced 
for  him  a  life  of  indulgence.  In  an  hour  or  two  he  was 
transported  to  Italy,  Egypt  or  Constantinople  :  gold, 
jewels  and  splendid  banquets  came  at  his  call :  gardens 
blossomed  and  trees  bore  fruit  for  him  in  winter,  and 
no  man  had  power  to  injure  him.  The  Emperor  Maxi- 
milian summoned  him  to  Insbruck,  and  his  magic  arts 
were  exhibited  before  the  Court.  He  brought  back 
Helen  of  Troy  from  the  Grecian  Hades,  but  was  himself 
taken  captive  by  her  beauty,  and  forced  Satan  to  reani- 
mate her,  in  order  that  she  might  become  his  wife. 
After  exhausting  all  forms  of  enjoyment,  and  exercising 
all  powers  which  he  desired,  the  term  came  to  an  end. 
Helen  and  her  child  vanished ;  a  storm,  with  terrific 
thunder  and  lightning,  came  at  midnight,  and  in  the 
morning  only  a  few  fragments  of  Faust's  body,  torn  and 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  341 

mangled  by  infernal  claws,  were  found  in  liis  chamber. 
He  had  a  Famulus — a  word  used  to  signify  servant  and 
amanuensis — by  name  Christopher  "Wagner,  who  followed 
his  example,  made  a  compact  with  Satan,  was  served  by 
an  evil  spirit  in  the  shape  of  a  monkey,  and  finally  met 
the  fate  of  his  master. 

The  belief  in  witchcraft  survived  among  the  people 
long  after  law  and  theology  had  discarded  it,  and  a 
dramatized  version  of  Faust  was  one  of  the  favorite  plays 
given  in  puppet-theatres,  at  fairs,  or  other  popular  fes- 
tivals. Goethe  probably  saw  it  thus  acted,  as  a  child, 
and  when,  after  his  return  from  Leipzig,  he  took  up 
the  study  of  alchemy,  himself  disgusted  with  the  man- 
ner in  which  knowledge  was  then  imparted,  we  can 
easily  understand  how  the  legend  must  have  returned 
to  his  mind.  The  various  texts  of  tlie  old  puppet- 
plays,  which  I  have  read,  are  by  no  means  mere  dog- 
gerel :  they  show  a  good  deal  of  dramatic  power,  and 
siiggest,  to  a  lively  imagination,  much  more  than  they 
express.  Goethe  was  not  the  only  one  to  whom  the 
idea  occurred,  of  making  a  graver  use  of  the  material, 
Lessing  and  Miiller  (called  "  the  Painter  Miiller  "),  each 
w^rote  a  tragedy  of  Faust,  without  being  aware  of 
Goethe's  design ;  and  one  of  Lessing's  friends,  writing 
about  the  lost  manuscript  after  his  death,  says  that 
Lessing's  Faust  was  written  at  a  time  when  in  every 
quarter  of  Germany  a  "  Faust  "  was  either  published  or 
announced.     In  fact,  during  the  sixty-one  years  when 


342  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Goethe  was  occupied  with  his  work,  upwards  of  twenty- 
nine  dramas  or  poems  on  the  subject  of  Faust,  by  other 
authors,  were  published  in  Germany.  There  must  have 
been  something  in  the  intellectual  atmosphere  of  the 
day — some  general  craving  for  power,  some  dissatisfac- 
tion with  the  conditions  of  life,  which  made  the  legend 
attractive.  Goethe  took  it  up,  like  so  many  others ; 
but  he  alone  saw  the  typical,  universal  element  hidden 
in  it — he,  alone,  was  able  to  engraft  his  own  life  and 
the  governing  forces  of  all  human  life  upon  this  wild 
shoot  of  a  darker  age.  He  began  to  write  in  1773,  after 
the  subject  had  been  maturing  for  two  or  three  years 
in  his  brain,  and  by  1775  had  written  nearly  one  half  of 
the  First  Part.  It  was  composed  very  slowly,  every 
line  and  couplet  being  carefully  finished  in  his  mind 
before  being  put  upon  paper.  With  his  removal  to 
Weimar,  the  work  ceased,  and  the  manuscript  was  yel- 
low with  age  when  he  took  it  with  him  to  Italy.  Two 
scenes  were  added  in  Rome,  and  in  the  edition  of  his 
works,  published  in  1790,  first  appears :  ^^ Faust,  ein 
Fragment"  containing  not  quite  two-thirds  of  the  First 
Part.  Stimulated  and  encouraged  by  Schiller,  he  re- 
sumed the  work  in  1797,  and  completed  the  whole  of 
the  First  Part,  and  a  considerable  portion  of  the  Sec- 
ond, which  belonged  to  his  plan  from  the  start.  In 
1808,  the  First  Part,  as  we  now  possess  it,  was  pub- 
lished ;  but  the  Second  Part,  delayed  by  his  scientific 
and  Oriental  studies,  was  suffered  to  wait  until  1824, 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  343 

by  whicli  time  Goethe  was  seventy-five  years  old.  The 
third  Act,  generally  called  ^'Die  Hellena,'"  was  pub- 
lished as  a  fragment  in  1827,  and  the  interest  and  the 
curiosity  which  it  excited  encouraged  Goethe,  in  spite 
of  his  age,  to  work  out  the  whole  of  his  grand  design. 
In  August,  1831,  the  Second  Part  was  finished,  but  it 
was  not  given  to  the  world  until  after  his  death. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  loss  of  Schiller,  the  battle 
of  Jena,  and  the  political  convulsions  which  disturbed 
Germany  for  ten  years  thereafter,  prevented  him  from 
undertaking  the  Second  Part  while  its  plan  was  fresh 
and  his  faculties  were  in  their  prime  of  vigor.  We  can- 
not but  feel  that  a  great  deal  was  lost  by  the  delay ; 
yet,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  admit  that  no  other  test 
could  have  so  sjDlendidly  proved  the  youth  and  the 
vitality  of  his  genius.  Three  predominant  elements 
are  united  in  the  work,  and,  while  they  are  generally 
blended  together  in  harmony,  we  are  sometimes  obliged 
to  consider  them  separately.  First,  there  is  that  broad, 
all-comprehensive  presentation  of  the  life  of  man  which, 
at  some  point  or  other,  touches  the  experiences  of  all 
men — including,  moreover,  the  problem  of  Good  and 
Evil,  simply  stated  and  sublimely  solved.  Secondly, 
there  is  a  reflection  throughout,  of  Goethe's  own  life, — 
of  the  phases  of  passion  and  thought,  through  which  he 
passed,  of  his  own  faith  and  doubt,  his  position  in  and 
towards  the  world.  Lastly,  there  is,  especially  in  the 
Second  Part,  matter  introduced  which  has  no  direct  con- 


344  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

nection  witli  the  plan  of  tlie  work,  and  interferes  with 
its  natural  evolution.  We  can  easily,  in  reading,  set  this 
last  feature  aside,  and  separate  it  from  the  main  design 
wherever  we  detect  it;  but  we  must  endeavor  not  to 
lose  sight  of  the  constant  and  intimate  presence  of  the 
two  former  elements — of  Goethe-nature  and  human 
nature.  Notwithstanding  the  breadth,  ripeness  and  im- 
partial quality  of  Goethe's  mind,  we  catch  a  fleeting 
glimpse,  here  and  there,  of  his  individual  presence ; 
or,  it  may  be,  that  because  all  his  life  is  so  clearly 
known  to  us,  we  see  the  experience  lying  far  behind 
the  poetry,  as  we  cannot  do  in  Shakespeare. 

Instead  of  giving  you  the  "  argument  "  of  "Faust"  in 
advance,  let  me  rather  commence  at  once  with  an  ex- 
amination of  the  poem,  and  unfold  it  as  we  proceed.  The 
Dedication,  written  when  Goethe  was  nearly  fifty  years 
old,  breathes  a  subdued  and  tender  spirit.  In  resum- 
ing his  work,  so  long  after  its  first  inception,  he  recalls 
his  friends  and  literary  associates — Merck,  Lenz,  La- 
vater,  his  sister  Cornelia — nearly  all  of  whom  had 
passed  from  the  earth.  It  is  a  sweet  and  solemn  pre- 
lude that  he  sings  : 

Sie  horen   nicht  die  folgenden  They  hear  no  longer  these  suc- 

Gesiinge,  ceeding  measures, 

Die  Seelen,  denen  ich  die  ersten  The  souls,  to  whom  my  earliest 

sang  ;  songs  I  sang  : 

Zerstoben    ist    das    freundliche  Dispersed    the    friendly    troop, 

Qedrange,  with  all  its  pleasures, 

Verklungen,  ach  !  der  erste  Wie-  And  still,  alas  !  the  echoes  first 

derklang.  that  rang  ! 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST." 


345 


Mein    Lied    ertOnt    der    unbe- 

kannten  Menge, 
Ihr  Beifall  selbst  maclit  meiiiem 

Herzen  bang ; 
Und  was  sicb  sonst  an  meinem 

Lied  erf  reuet, 
Wenn   es   noch  lebt,  irrt  in  der 

Welt  zerstreuet. 


I  bring  the  unknown  multitude 

my  treasures  ; 
Their    very  plaudits    give    my 

heart  a  pang, 
And  those  beside,  whose  joy  my 

Song  so  flattered, 
If  still  they  live,  wide  through 

the  world  are  scattered. 


Und   mich    ergreift   ein  lilngst 

entwohntes  Sehnen 
Nach    jenem     stillea,     ernsten 

Geisterreich  ; 
Es    schwebet     nun    in     unbe- 

stimmten  Tonen 
Mein   lispelnd  Lied,  der   Jiols- 

harfe  gleich  ; 
Ein  Schauer  fasst  mich,  Thrane 

folgt  den  Thriinen, 
Das  strenge  Herz,  es  f  iihlt  sich 

mild  und  weich  ; 
Was  ich  besitze,  seh'  ich  wie  im 

Weiten, 
Und  was  vorschwand,  wird  mir 

zu  Wirklichkeiten. 


And  grasps  me  now  a  long-un- 
wonted yearning 

For  that  serene  and  solemn 
Spirit-Land  ; 

My  song,  to  faint  iEolian  mur- 
murs turning, 

Sways  like  a  harp-string  by  the 
breezes  fanned. 

I  thrUl  and  tremble  ;  tear  on 
tear  is  burning, 

And  the  stern  heart  is  tenderly 
unmanned  : 

Wliat  I  possess,  I  see  far  distant 

And  what  I  lost,  grows  real  and 
undying. 


After  tliis  Dedication  follows  a  "  Prelude  on  the  Stage  " 
— a  conversation  between  the  Manager,  the  Poet  and 
the  Merry-Andrew,  or  Humorous  person  of  the  com- 
pany. The  Manager  demands  something  that  will  please 
the  public,  who  have  read  so  much  that  they  have  be- 
come fastidious  in  their  tastes  ;  his  preference  would  be 
a  sort  of  literary  hash,  containing  so  many  elements 
that  each  hearer  will  be  certain  to  pick  out  something  ap- 
propriate to  himself,  and  all  will  go  home  pleased.  The 
Merry -Andrew  insists  that  there  must  be  plenty  of  fun 


346  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

and  follj  in  tlie  piece  ;  wliile  the  Poet  vainly  protests 
against  sucli  a  debasement  of  liis  art,  and  finally  ex- 
claims to  the  Manager  :  "  Go,  find  yourself  a  more 
obedient  slave  ! "  The  Merry- Andrew  answers  him  with 
ridicule,  and  gives  his  idea  of  what  the  world  should  be, 
in  the  following  words  : 

In  bimten  Bildern  wenig  Klar  In  motley  pictures  little  ligtt, 

heit, 

Viel  Irrthum  imd  ein  Fiinkclien  Much  error,  and  of  truth  a  glim- 

Walirheit,  mering  mite. 

So  wird  der  baste  Tranli  gebraut,  Thus  the    best  beverage  is  sup- 
plied, 

Der    alle    Welt    erquickt    und  Whence  all  the  world  is  cheered 

auferbaut.  and  edified. 

The  Manager  then  puts  an  end  to  the  discussion  by 
commanding  that  the  work  shall  be  commenced  at 
once.  He  shows  his  sordid  business  nature,  his  utter 
ignorance  of  the  poetic  character,  by  saying  : 

Was  hi]  ft  es,  viel  von  Stimmung  What  need  to  talk  of   Inspira- 

reden  ?  tion  ? 

Dem   Zaudernden   erscheint   sie  'Tis  no  companion  of  Delay. 

nie. 

Gebt  ihr  euch  einmal  f  iir  Poeten,  If  Poetry  be  your  vocation, 

So  kommandirt  die  Poesie.  Let  Poetry  your  will  obey ! 

He  offers  all  the  properties  of  his  theatre — beasts, 
birds,  sun,  stars,  fire  and  water,  and  closes  the  scene  by 
declaring  that  if  they  are  properly  used. 

So  schreitet  in  dem  engen  Bretter-  Thus,  in  our  booth's  contracted 

haus  sphere. 

Den  ganzen  Kreis  der  Schopf  ung  The  circle  of  creation  wUl  ap- 

aus  pear, 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  347 

Und    wandelt,  mit    bedJiclifger  And   move,   as   we  deliberately 

Sclmelle,  impel, 

Vom  Himmel  durch  die  Welt  zur  From  Heaven,  across  the  World, 

Holle  !  to  Hell ! 

To  this  introduction  succeeds  a  "Prologue  in  Heaven," 
imitated  from  the  commencement  of  the  Book  of  Job. 
The  Prologue  begins  with  a  chant  of  the  Archangels, 
which  is  so  grand  that  I  must  quote  it  entire  : 

EArHAEL.. 

Die  Sonne  tont  nach  alter  Weise      The  sun-orb  sings,  in  emulation, 

In  Bruderspharen  Wettgesang,         'Mid  brother-spheres,  his  ancient 

round : 

Und  ihre  vorgeschriebne  Reise  His    path   predestined    through 

Creation 

Vollendet  sie  mit  Donnergang.  He  ends  with  step  of  thunder- 

sound. 

Ihr  Anblick  giebt  den  Engeln  The  angels  from  his  visage 
Starke,  splendid 

Wenn  Keiner  sie  ergriinden  Draw  power,  whose  measure 
mag  ;  none  can  say  ; 

Die  unbegreiflich  hohen  Werke        The     lofty    works,    uncompre- 

hended, 

Sind  herrlich,  wie  am  ersten  Are  bright  as  on  the  earliest 
Tag.  day. 

Gabeiel. 

Und   schnell   und  unbegreiflich      And    swift,   and    swift   beyond 

schuelle  conceiving, 

Dreht    sich    umher    der    Erde      The  splendor  of  the  world  goes 

Pracht ;  round, 

Es  wcchselt  Paradieses-Helle  Day's  Eden-brightness   still  re- 

lieving 
Mit  tiefer,  schauervoller  Nacht  ;        The  awful  night's   intense  pro- 
found : 


348  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Es  schliumt  das  Meer  in  breiten       The    ocean-tides    in    foam    are 

Fliissen  breaking. 

Am  tief en  Grund  der  Felsen  auf ,       Against   the   rocks'   deep  bases 

hurled, 
Und  Fels  und  Meer  wird  fortge-       And  both,  the  spheric  race  par- 

rissen  taking. 

In  ewig  schnellem  Sphiirenlauf.         Eternal,      swift,      are      onward 

whirled  ! 

Michael. 

Und    Stiirme   brausen   um    die  And    rival    storms    abroad    are 

Wette,  surging 

Vom  Meer  aufs  Land,  vom  Land  From  sea  to  land,  from  land  to 

aufs  Meer,  sea, 

Und  bilden  wiithend  eine  Kette  A  chain  of  deepest  action   forg- 
ing 

Der  tief  sten  Wirkung  rings  um-  Round  all,  in  wrathful  energy. 

her. 

Da   flammt  ein   blitzendes  Ver-  There  flames  a  desolation,  blaz- 

heeren  ing 

Dem    Pfade    vor    des    Donner-  Before  the  Thunder's   crashing 

schlags  ;  way  : 

Doch    deine   Boten,    Herr,    ver-  Yet,  Lord,  Thy  messengers  are 

ehren  praising 

Das    sanfte     Wandeln     deines  The  gentle  movement  of  Thy 

Tags.  Day. 

The  Three. 

Der  Anblick  giebt  den  Engeln      Though   still   by  them  uncom- 

Starke,  prehended. 

Da  Keiner  dich  ergriinden  mag.       From    these    the    angels   draw 

their  power, 
Und  alle  deine  hohen  Werke  And  all  Thy  works,  sublime  and 

splendid, 
Sind   herrlich,    wie    am    ersten      Are     bright    as    in     Creation's 
Tag.  hour. 

Mephistoplieles   tlieu  steps  forward,  and  in  a  brutal, 


OOETHE'S  "FAUST."  349 

sneering  speech,  gives  his  opinion  of  tlie  human  race. 
The  Lord  asks  him  if  he  knows  his  servant,  Faust. 
Thereupon  Mephistopheles  offers  to  bet  that  he 
will  win  Faust's  soul  if  permission  be  granted.  The 
Lord  answers  that  he  is  free  to  try :  that  man  errs  as 
long  as  he  strives  and  aspires;  but  He  tells  Mephis- 
topheles, in  advance,  that  in  the  end  he  will  stand 
ashamed,  to  see  that  a  good  man,  through  all  the  ob- 
scurity of  his  natural  impulses,  still  in  his  heart  has  an 
instinct  of  the  one  true  way.  Mephistopheles,  how- 
ever, accepts  without  the  least  fear  that  he  shall  faih 
The  words  which  Goethe  puts  into  the  mouth  of  the 
Lord  intimate  that  Evil  is  a  necessary  part  of  the  cre- 
ative plan. 

Des  Menschen  Thiitigkeit  kann  Man's   active   nature,    flagging, 

allzuleicht  ersclilaffen,  seeks  too  soon  the  level  ; 

Er  liebt  sicli  bald  die  unbedingte  Unqualified  repose  he  learns  to 

Ruh  ;  crave  ; 

Drum  geb'  ich  gem  ihm  den  Ge-  Whence,  willingly,  the  comrade 

sellen  zu,  him  I  gave, 

Der  reizt  und  wirkt  und  muss,  Who  works,  excites,  and  must 

als  Teufel,  schaffen.  create,  as  Devil. 

The  "  Prelude  on  the  Stage "  presents,  in  sharp  satir- 
ical outlines,  the  relation  of  the  poet  to  his  own  time. 
It  shows  that  Goethe  expected  no  popularity  for  his 
work — nay,  no  intelligent  comprehension  of  its  mean- 
ing. It  must  be  read  as  a  piece  of  defiant  irony.  The 
"Prologue  in  Heaven"  indicates  the  grand  ethical  idea 
underlying  the  whole  poem.     Only  the  form  is  taken 


350  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

from  Job  :  tlie  problem  is  stated  in  different  terms,  and 
worked  out  through  an  entirely  new  and  original  pres- 
entation of  the  life  of  man.  But  the  manner  in  which 
Goethe  has  done  this  cannot  possibly  be  understood 
without  reading  the  Second  Part. 

We  now  reach  the  first  scene  of  the  tragedy.  It  is 
night,  and  Faust,  in  an  old  Gothic  chamber,  begins  his 
soliloquy.  He  has  studied  Philosophy,  Jurisprudence, 
Medicine  and  Theology,  and  finds  himself  no  whit  the 
wiser  than  before.  His  dreary  conclusion  is,  that  noth- 
ing can  be  known.  Then,  too,  he  has  lacked  in  obtain- 
ing worldly  fortune :  he  has  neither  lands  nor  gold, 
honor  nor  consideration  among  men.  As  a  last  experi- 
ment he  has  turned  to  Magic,  hoping  that  he  may  de- 
tect the  secret  forces  of  nature,  the  undiscovered  germs 
of  all  power,  and  rummage  no  more  among  empty 
words.  A  sense  of  the  free  delight  of  physical  life, 
which  he  has  so  long  given  up  for  the  sake  of  study, 
comes  over  him ;  he  longs  to  leave  his  smoky  den,  his 
jars  and  skeletons,  and  live  the  life  of  the  body  in  the 
open  air.  In  this  soliloquy  we  find  not  only  the  early 
experience  of  Goethe,  but  the  early  conflict  between  the 
physical  and  the  intellectual  natures  of  all  men. 

Faust  contemplates  the  cabalistic  sign  of  the  Earth- 
Spirit,  and  then  invokes  its  appearance.  The  Spirit 
is  revealed  in  a  ruddy  flame,  but  Faust  turns  away 
his  head,  unable  to  endure  the  vision.  The  Spirit 
says: 


GOETHE'S  •■  FAUST."  351 

In   Lebensfluthen,    im    Tliaten-  In  the  tides  of  Life,  in  Action's 

Sturm  storm, 

Wall'  ich  auf  und  ab,  A  fluctuant  wave, 

Webe  bin  und  her  !  A  shuttle  free, 

Geburt  und  Grab,  Birth  and  the  Grave, 

Ein  ewiges  Meer,  An  eternal  sea, 

Ein  wechselnd  Weben  A  weaving,  flowing 

Ein  gluhend  Leben,  Life,  all-glowing  ; 

So    schafE'    ich    am    sausenden  Thus  at  Time's  humming  loom 

Webstuhl  der  Zeit  'tis  my  hand  prepares 

Und  wirke  der  Gottheit  leben-  The    garment    of    Life    which 

diges  Kleid.  the  Deity  wears  ! 

There  is  a  profound  meaning  in  the  words  with  which 
the  Spirit  disappears : 

Du  gleichst  dem  Geist,   den  du       Thou  'rt  like   the  Spirit  which 

begreifst,  thou  comprehendest, 

Nicht  mir  !  Not  me  1 

Faust  is  now  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  "Wagner, 
his  Famulus,  who  represents  the  ordinary,  mechanical 
man,  without  a  spark  of  original  thought,  and  whom  all 
the  education  in  the  world  only  turns  into  a  shallow 
pedant.  The  German  critics  consider  him  as  the  type 
of  a  PhiUster — a  term  which  they  apply  to  the  large 
class  of  half-stupid,  commonplace,  conventional  indi- 
viduals who  enter  largely  into  all  society.  "Wagner's 
remarks  only  increase  Faust's  disgust  and  impatience. 
After  the  former's  departure,  Faust  resumes  the  solilo- 
quy, finds  every  view  of  life  discouraging,  every  prospect 
of  attaining  satisfactory  knowledge  hopeless,  and  is 
gradually  led  from  one  morbid  impulse  to  another,  until 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


lie  settles  on  the  tliouglit  of  suicide.    The  conclusion  of 
the  scene  is  so  remarkable  that  I  must  give  it  entire  : 


Nun    komra   lierab,    krystallne 

reine  Scliale  ! 
Hevor  aus  deinem  alten  Futter- 

ale, 
An  die  icli  viele  Jalire  niclit  ge- 

dacht  ! 
Du  glanztest  bei  der  Vater  Freu- 

denfeste, 
Erheitertest  die  ernsten  Gaste, 


kllnstlicli 


Wenn  einer  dich    dem    andern 

zugebraclit. 
Der     vielen     Bilder 

reiclie  Pracht, 
Des  Trinker's  Pflicbt,  sie  reim- 

weis  zu  erklaren, 
Auf  Einen  Zug  die  Hohlung  aus- 

zuleeren, 
Erinnert  mich   an   manche  Ju- 

gendnacht. 
Icli    werde    jetzt    dicb    keinem 

Nachbar  reichen, 
Ich  werde  meinen  Witz  an  dei- 

ner  Kunst  niclit  zeigen  ; 
Hier  ist  ein  Saft,  der  eilig  trunk- 
en  macht. 
Mit    brauner    Flntb  erfuUt    er 

deine  Hoble. 
Den  icb  bereitet,  den  icb  wahle, 

Der  letzte   Trunk  sei  nun,  mit 

ganzer  Seele, 
Als   festlicb   hober  Qruss,  dem 

Morgen  zugebracbt. 


And  now  come  down,  tbou  cup 

of  crystal  clearest, 
Fresb  from  tbine  ancient  cover 

tbou  appearest, 
So  many  years  forgotten  to  my 

tbougbt ! 
Tbou    sbon'st   at   old   ancestral 

banquets  cbeery, 
Tbe  solemn  guests  tbou  madest 

merry, 
Wben   one   tby   wassail  to  tbe 

otber  brougbt. 
Tbe  ricb  and  skilful  figures  o'er 

tbee  wrougbt, 
Tbe  drinker's  duty,  rbyme-wise 

to  explain  tbem. 
Or    in    one    breatb    below    tbe 

mark  to  drain  tbem, 
From  many  a  nigbt  of  youtb  my 

memory  caugbt. 
Now  to  a  neigbbor  sball  I  pass 

tbee  never. 
Nor  on  tby  curious   art  to  test 

my  wit  endeavor  : 
Here  is  a  juice  -vvbence  sleep  is 

swiftly  born. 
It  fills  witb  browner  flood  tby 

crystal  bollow  ; 
I  cbose,  prepared  it  :  tbus  I  fol- 
low,— 
Witb  all  my  soul  tbe  final  drink 

I  swallow, 
A  solemn  festal  cup,  a  greeting 

to  tbe  morn  ! 
[He  sets  the  goblet  to  Jds  mouth.'] 

{Chime  of  bells  and  choral  song- ) 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST." 


353 


Chorus  of  Ajjgels. 


Christ  ist  erstanden  I 
Freude  dem  Sterblichen, 
Den  die  verderblichen, 
Sclileichenden,  erbliclien 
Mangel  umwanden. 


Christ  is  arisen ! 
Joy  to  the  Mortal  One, 
Whom  the  unmerited, 
Clinging,  inherited 
Needs  did  imprison. 


Fatjst. 


Welch   tiefes    Summen,    welch 

ein  heller  Ton 
Zieht  mit  Gewalt  das  Glas  von 

meineni  Munde  ? 
Verkiindiget  ihr  dumpf en  Glock- 

en  schon 
Des     Osterfestes      erste     Feier- 

stunde  1 
Ihr  Chore,  singt  ihr  schon  den 

trostlichen  Gesang, 
Der  einst  um  Grabes  Nacht  von 

Engelslippen  klang, 

Gewissheit  einem  neuen  Bunde  ? 


WTaat  hollow  humming,  what  a 
sharp,  clear  stroke. 

Drives  from  my  lip  the  goblet's, 
at  their  meeting  ? 

Announce  the  booming  bells  al- 
ready woke 

The  first  glad  hour  of  Easter's 
festal  greeting  1 

Ye  choirs,  have  ye  begun  the 
sweet,  consoling  chant, 

\\Tiich,  through  the  night  of 
Death,  the  angels  minis- 
trant 

Sang,  God's  new  Covenant  re- 
peating ? 


Choriis  of  Women. 


Mit  Spezereien 
Hatten  wir  ihn  gepflegt, 
Wir,  seine  Treuen, 
Hatten  ihn  hingelegt  ; 
Tiicher  und  Binden 
Reinlich  umwanden  wir, 
Ach  !  und  wir  finden 
Christ  nicht  mehr  hier. 


With  spices  and  precious 
Balm  we  arrayed  him  ; 
Faithful  and  gracious. 
We  tenderly  laid  him  : 
Linen  to  bind  him 
Cleanlily  wound  we  : 
Ah  !  when  we  would  find  him, 
Christ  no  more  found  we  ! 


Christ  ist  erstanden  I 
Selig  der  Liebende, 
Der  die  betriibonde, 
Heilsam  und  iibende 
Prlifuug  bestanden. 


Chorus  of  Angels. 

Christ  is  ascended  ! 
Bliss  hath  invested  him, — 
Woes  that  molested  him, 
Trials  that  tested  him. 
Gloriously  ended  I 


354 


GERMAN  LITERATURE.  ' 


Faust. 


Was  suclit  ihr,  machtig  und  ge- 

lind, 
llir     Himmelstone,     mich     am 

Staube  ? 
Klingt  dort  umher,  wo  weiche 

Menschen  sind. 
Die  Botscliaft  hiir'  ich  wohl,  al- 

lein  mir  fehlt  der  Glaube  ; 
Das  Wunder   ist  des  Glaubens 

liebstes  Kind. 
Zu  jenen  Spliiiren  wag'  ich  niclit 

zu  streben, 
Woher  die  bolde  Nachricht  tont  ; 

Und  doch,  an  diesen  Klang  von 

Jugend  auf  gewohnt, 
Ruft  er  auch  jetzt  zuriick  mich 

in  das  Leben. 
Sonst  stiirzte  sich  der  Himmels- 

liebe  Kuss 
Auf  mich  herab  in  ernster  Sab- 

bathstille  ; 
Da    klang   so   ahnungsvoll    des 

Glockentones  Fillle, 

Und  ein  Qebet   war  briinstiger 

Genuss  ; 
Ein  unbegreiflich  hoi  des  Sehnen 

Trieb  mich,  durch  Wald  und 
Wiesen  hinzugehen, 

Und  unter  tausend  heissen  Thra- 
nen 

Fuhlt'  ich  mir  eine  Welt  ent- 
stehn. 

Diess  Lied  verkundete  der  Ju- 
gend muntre  Spiele, 

Der  Friihlingsfeier  f reies  Gliick  ; 


Why,   here  in  dust,  entice  me 

with  your  spell. 
Ye  gentle,  powerful   sounds  of 

Heaven  ? 
Peal  rather  there,  where  tender 

natures  dwell. 
Your  messages  I  hear,  but  faith 

has  not  been  given  ; 
The   dearest   child   of   Faith  is 

Miracle. 
I  venture  not  to  soar  to  yonder 

regions, 
Whence  the  glad  tidings  hither 

float  ; 
And    yet,    from    childhood    up 

familiar  with  the  note, 
To  Life  it  now  renews  the  old 

allegiance. 
Once  Heavenly  Love  sent  down  a 

burning  kiss 
Upon  my  brow,  in  Sabbath  si- 
lence holy  ; 
And,  filled  with  mystic  presage, 

chimed      the      church-bell 

slowly. 
And   prayer  dissolved  me  in  a 

fervent  bliss. 
A  sweet,  uncomprehended  yearn- 
ing 
Drove    forth   my   feet  through 

woods  and  meadows  free. 
And  while  a  thousand  tears  were 

burning, 
I  felt  a  world  arise  for  me. 

These  chants,  to  youth  and  all 
its  sports  appealing, 

Proclaimed  the  Spring's  rejoic- 
ing holiday  ; 


GOETHE'S  "FAU8T: 


355 


Erinnerung  halt  micli  nun,  mit 

kindlicliem  Gefiihle, 
Vom    letzten,     ernsten     Schritt 

zuriick. 
O  tonet  fort,  ilir  siissen  Himmels- 

lieder  ! 
Die  Tliriine  quillt,  die  Erde  liat 

mich  wieder  ! 


And  Memory  holds  me  now,  with 

childish  feeling, 
Back  from  the  last,  the  solemn 

way. 
Sound  on,  ye  hymns  of  Heaven, 

so  sweet  and  mild  ! 
My  tears  gush  forth  :  the  Earth 

takes  back  her  child  ! 


Chorus 

Hat  der  Begrabene 
Schon  sich  nach  oben, 
Lebcnd  Erhabene, 
Herrlich  erhoben  ; 
1st  er  in  Werdelust 
Schaflfender  Freude  nah  : 
Ach  !  an  der  Erde  Brust, 
Sind  wir  zum  Leide  da. 
Liess  er  die  Seinen 
Schmachtend  uns  hier  zuriick, 
Ach,  wir  beweinen, 
Meister,  dein  Gliick  ! 


OF  Disciples. 

Has  He,  victoriously. 
Burst  from  the  vaulted 
Grave,  and  ail-gloriously 
Now  sits  exalted  ? 
Is  He,  in  glow  of  birth. 
Rapture  creative  near? 
Ah  !  to  the  woe  of  earth 
Still  are  we  native  here. 
We,  his  aspiring 
Followers,  Him  we  miss  ; 
Weeping,  desiring. 
Master,  Thy  bliss  ! 


Chorus  of  Angels. 


Christ  ist  erstanden 
Aus  der  Verwesung  Schooss. 
Reisset  von  Banden 
Freudig  euch  los  ! 
Tliiitig  ihn  preisenden, 
Liebe  beweisenden, 
Brliderlich  speisenden, 
Predigend  reisenden, 
Wonne  verheissenden 
Euch  ist  der  Meister  nah, 
Euch  ist  er  da  ! 


Christ  is  arisen, 
Out  of  Corruption's  womb  : 
Burst  ye  the  prison, 
Break  from  your  gloom  ! 
Praising  and  pleading  him. 
Lovingly  needing  him, 
Brothc'ily  feeding  him, 
Preaching  and  speeding  htm, 
Blessing,  succeeding  Him, 
Thus  is  the  Master  near, — 
Thus  is  He  here  ! 


The  second  scene  is  before  the  city  gate,  on  the 
Easter  holiday.  Citizens,  students,  servant  girls,  beg- 
gars and  soldiers   make  their  appearance.     Each  one 


356  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

speaks  in  bis  or  her  character,  and  the  result  is  a  mot- 
ley, animated  picture  of  life.  Faust  passes  through  the 
crowd,  feeling  his  desire  renewed  to  be  simply  a  man 
among  men.  Accompanied  by  Wagner,  he  walks  onward 
to  the  crest  of  a  neighboring  hill,  where  the  sight  of 
sunset  calls  forth  a  passage  so  grand  and  impassioned, 
that  it  is  hard  for  me  to  resist  the  temptation  of  quoting 
it.     But  I  dare  not  pause  too  often  by  the  way. 

As  the  dusk  begins  to  gather,  they  notice  a  black  dog, 
running  around  them  in  circles,  gradually  drawing 
nearer.  Wagner  thinks  it  is  only  a  stray  poodle  who  is 
hunting  his  master,  but  Faust  imagines  that  a  trail  of  fire 
follows  the  animal.  He  returns  to  his  quarters,  taking 
the  dog  with  him.  The  Third  and  the  Fourth  scenes 
are  in  Faust's  study.  He  begins  to  translate  the  first 
chapter  of  John,  while  the  dog  lies  on  a  cushion  behind 
the  stove.  But  he  growls  and  barks  fearfully,  at  each 
repetition  of  the  text.  Faust  suspects  the  presence  of 
an  evil  spirit  in  the  beast,  and  proceeds  to  exorcise  it 
by  the  usual  formula  of  magic.  The  spell  at  last  is  dis- 
solved, and  Mephistopheles  steps  forth,  in  the  costume 
of  a  traveling  scholar.  In  answer  to  Faust's  questions, 
he  declares  himself  to  be 

Part  of  that  Power,  not  understood, 
WTiich  always  wills  the  Bad,  and  always  works  the  Good  ; 

and  again,  he  says  : 

I  am  the  Spirit  that  Denies  ! 


GOETHE'S  ''FAUST."  357 

explaining  that  his  proper  element  is  Evil,  in  all  its 
forms.  This  is  the  part  which  he  plays  throughout  the 
whole  poem.  He  is  not  Satan,  but  an  intellectual  Devil 
who  works  by  always  presenting  the  opposite  of  Good. 
He  argues  rather  than  directly  tempts,  and  assures  his 
power  over  Faust  by  trains  of  reasoning  which  the  lat- 
ter cannot  answer,  because  they  are  the  echoes  of  his 
own  doubts.  Mephistopheles  is  one  of  the  most  re-^ 
markable  creations  in  literature.  His  cunning,  his 
subtlety,  his  scorching  ridicule  and  savage  cynicism 
form  a  compound  which  is  only  a  little  more  than 
human,  and  is  not  completely  infernal.  He  is  the  echo 
of  all  the  reckless  and  defiant  unbelief  of  the  whole 
human  race  :  in  him  are  concentrated  their  rebellious 
impulses,  their  indulgence,  their  negation  of  Virtue, 
Love  and  Faith,  and  herein  lies  the  secret  of  his 
power.  To  look  upon  him  as  a  conventional  devil 
would  lead  you  to  misunderstand  him  entirely.  Like 
the  very  qualities  of  human  nature  which  he  repre- 
sents, he  "  always  ivills  the  Bad,  and  always  icorlcs  the 
Good," — that  is,  in  spite  of  himself. 

Mephistopheles  lulls  Faust  into  slumber  by  the  song 
of  his  attendant  spirits — a  wild,  almost  unearthly  chant 
which  hints  at  the  delight  of  the  senses,  without  ex- 
pressing any  intelligible  thought.  He  returns  next 
day,  and  so  plays  upon  Faust's  impatient,  despairing 
mood,  that  the  latter  curses  everything  in  which  he 
had   formerly  believed,  and  at  last — satisfied  tliat   all 


358  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

forms  of  liappiness  have  becomo  impossible  to  him — 
exclaims : 

Werd'  ich  beruhigt  je  mich  auf  When  on  an  idler's  bed  I  stretch 

ein  Faulbett  legen,  myself  in  quiet. 

So  sei  es  gleich  um  mich  gethau  !  There  let,  at  once,  my  record  end  ! 

Kannst   du  mich  schmeichelnd  Canst  thou  v?ith  lying  flattery 

je  beliigen,  rule  me, 

Dass  ich  mir  selbst  gef alien  mag.  Until,     self -pleased,     myself    I 

see, — 

Kannst  du  mich  mit  Genuss  be-  Canst  thoa  with  rich  enjoyment 

triigen  :  fool  me. 

Das  sei  f  ilr  mich  der  letzte  Tag !  Let  that  day  be  the  last  for  me  I 

Die  Wette  Met'  ich  1  The  bet  I  offer. 

Mephistopheles. 
Top  I  Done ! 

Faust. 

TJnd  Schlag  auf  And  heartily  ! 

Schlag  I 

Werd  'ich  zum  Augenblicke  sa-  When  thus  I  hail  the  Moment 

gen  :  flying  : 

Verweile    doch  !      du    bist     so  "Ah,   still    delay — thou   art  so 

schon  !  fair  !  " 

Dann  magst  du  mich  in  Fesseln  Then  bind  me  in  thy  bonds  un- 

schlagen,  dying, 

Dann  will  ich   gern  zu  Grunde  My  final  ruin  then  declare  ! 

gehn  ! 

Dann    mag    die     Todtenglocke  Then  let  the  death-bell  chime 

schallen,  the  token, 

Dann  bist  du  deinea  Dienstes  f  rei,  Then  art  thou  from  thy  service 

free  ! 

Die  Uhr  mag  stehn,  dor  Zeiger  The  clock  may  stop,  the  hand  be 

fallen,  broken , 

Es  sei  die  Zeit  f  ilr  mich  vorbei !  Then  Time  be  finished  unto  me  ! 

This  is  the  compact :   and  I  beg  you  to  remember 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  359 

the  words  whicli  will  give  Mepliistopheles  power  over 
Faust.  He  must  experience  a  sense  of  happiness  so 
pure  and  complete  that  lie  shall  say  to  the  passing  mo- 
ment :  "  Ah,  still  delay — thou  art  so  fair  !  "  Observe 
the  nature  of  the  problem  :  through  perfect  happiness 
he  will  lose  his  soul ;  yet  how  shall  Mepliistopheles 
evolve  happiness  from  Evil  ?  Either  way  there  seems 
to  be  a  paradox — a  moral  contradiction — and  the  solu- 
tion of  this  riddle  is  the  basis  ujion  Avhich  both  parts  of 
the  poem  rests. 

Faust  exclaims,  after  the  compact  is  made  : 

Stiirzen   wir  ims  in  das   Raus-  Plunge  we  in  Time's  tumultuous 

clien  der  Zeit,  dance. 

Ins  Rollen  der  Begebenheit  I  In  the  rusli  and  roll  of  Circum- 
stance ! 

Da  mag  denn  Sclimerz  und  Ge-  Tlien  may  delight  and  distress, 

nuss, 

Gelingen  und  Verdruss  And  worry  and  success, 

Mit  einander  wechseln,   wie  es  AJternately  follow,  as  best  they 

kann  ;  can  : 

Nur  rastlos  bethiitigt   sich   der  Restless  activity  proves  the  man  ! 

Mann. 

While  Faust  retires  to  prepare  for  his  new  life  in  the 
world,  a  student  calls.  Mephistopheles  puts  on  Faust's 
cap  and  mantle,  passes  himself  off  for  the  learned  Pro- 
fessor, and  takes  the  ojiportunity  to  give  his  views  upon 
logic,  law,  theology  and  medicine.  His  remarks  are  so 
shrewd  and  his  satire  so  keen  that  the  student  is  pro- 
foundly impressed,  and  at  the  close  of  the  interview 
(like   many  another   student    nowadays)    requests    an 


360  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

autograph  in  his  album.     This  scene  is  a  masterpiece 
of  irony. 

Goethe  called  the  scene  in  the  witches'  kitchen  a  piece 
of  "  dramatic  nonsense."    Faust,  looking  in  the  witches' 
mirror,  perceives  the  form  of  Margaret,  which  at  once 
takes  possession  of  his  fancy.     The  witch  gives  him  a 
magic  potion  to  drink,  which  repairs  the  waste  of  his 
body  in  studies,  and  restores  his  youthful  vigor.     Then 
follow  those  simple,  exquisite  scenes  in  which  Margaret 
is  the  heroine.    Faust  first  sees  her  returning  from  con- 
fession, when  she   repulses  his   proffered  escort.     By 
the  aid  of  Mephistopheles  and  an  old  neighbor  named 
Martha,  he  obtains  an  interview  in  the  garden,  and  soon 
succeeds  in  inspiring  a  return  of  his  love.     Margaret's 
perfect  innocence  and  her  simple  trust  in  him  awaken 
his  sense  of  remorse.      The  latent  good  in  his  nature 
drives  him  from  her,  lest  he  should  become  the  instru- 
ment of  her  ruin ;  but  Mephistopheles,  by  painting  her 
loneliness  and  yearning  for  the  absent  lover,  brings  him 
back  again.    Then  follows  the  celebrated  scene,  wherein 
Faust  gives  his  confession  of  faith,  in  answer  to  Mar- 
garet's doubts,  and  from  this  point  the  tragic  portion  of 
the  story  begins.     Margaret's  prayer  to  the  Virgin  is 
the  passionate  appeal  of  a  loving  and  suffering  heart. 
If  ever  tears  were  expressed  in  words,  it  is  in  those 
marvellous   stanzas.     It  is  remarkable  that,  although 
Margaret  is  a  simple,  ignorant  girl,  accustomed  to  hard 
work  and  no  sentiment — although  she  is  vain,  and  im- 


GOETHE 'S  :  'FA  U8T."  361 

prudent,  and  yields  to  her  fate  from  the  first,  without 
making  the  least  resistance,  no  imaginary  woman  in  all 
literature — not  even  Imogen,  Cordelia  or  Ophelia — 
excites  so  tender  a  sympathy  in  the  reader.  The 
conception  of  her  character  is  not  only  original  but 
daring.  She  is,  simply,  a  woman,  as  innocent  in  lier 
ignorance  as  Eve  in  Eden.  Sin,  crime  and  madness 
visit  her,  but  we  feel  that  she  is  their  helpless  victim, 
and  that  the  original  purity  of  her  nature  can  take 
no  permanent  stain. 

The  tragical  events  thicken.  Margaret's  mother  never 
awakes  from  a  sleeping  potion,  administered  without 
evil  intent:  her  brother,  Valentin,  attacks  Faust  in  the 
street,  and  is  slain  by  him.  Faust  and  Mephistopheles 
fly  from  the  city,  and  she  is  left  alone.  She  goes  to  the 
Cathedral,  to  seek  solace  in  the  religious  services,  but 
the  Evil  Spirit  pursues  her  there. 

Then  follows  the  Carnival  of  the  Witches,  among  the 
Hartz  Mountains,  on  the  Walpurgis-Night,  which  is 
the  First  of  May.  "With  the  opening  lines  we  begin  to 
breathe^a  supernatural,  almost  a  diabolical  atmosphere. 
All  is  weird,  strange  and  ghostly.  Will-o'-the-wisps 
dance  along  the  path ;  a  tempest  rushes  down  the 
gorges,  tearing  up  the  trees  by  the  roots  ;  showers  of 
sparks  fly  through  the  air,  and  the  red  moon  hangs 
low  on  the  borders  of  the  sky.  The  Avitch  scenes  in 
Macbeth  are  ghastly  encugh,  but  they  have  not  the 
lurid,  unearthly  atmosphere  of  the  Walpurgis-Night. 
16 


3G2  OEBMAN  LITERATURE. 

As  we  move  along  with  tlie  fitful  dance  or  stormy  sweep 
of  the  rhythm,  we  feel  a  creeping  of  the  nerves,  as  if 
in  the  presence  of  powers  brought  from  another  and 
darker  world.  Mephistopheles  here  again  reveals  his 
true  character,  but  he  cannot  persuade  Faust  to  take 
part  in  the  revels.  Faust's  thoughts  are  with  Margaret, 
and  he  sees  her  at  last,  as  a  phantom,  wherein  her  fate 
is  revealed  to  him.  It  is  difficult  for  me  to  refrain 
from  quoting  portions  of  the  Walpurgis-Night ;  but  I 
am  forced  to  do  it. 

The  Intermezzo  (or  interlude),  called  "Oberon  and 
Titania's  Golden  Wedding,"  which  follows,  has  really 
nothing  to  do  with  "  Favst"  Goethe  wrote  it  as  a 
series  of  *'  Xenien,"  in  another  form,  and  sent  it  to 
Schiller  for  publication  in  "  The  Hours."  Schiller, 
however,  judged  it  best  not  to  revive  the  excitement, 
which  was  beginning  to  subside,  and  returned  it  to 
Goethe,  suggesting  that  he  might  use  it  in  some  other 
way  :  thus  it  came  to  be  interpolated  into  "  Faust."  It 
is  a  collection  of  very  short,  sharp  stanzas,  which  snap 
and  sting  like  a  whip-lash,  describing  Goethe's  literary 
enemies  under  names  which  allow  the  real  persons  to 
be  guessed. 

Returning  to  the  tragedy,  we  next  encounter  Faust 
in  a  state  bordering  upon  madness.  He  has  learned 
that  Margaret  is  imprisoned  and  condemned  to  death 
for  infanticide.  His  remorse  and  passion  are  so  fran- 
tically expressed,  that  Mephistopheles,  Devil  as  he  is, 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST." 


363 


begins  to  be  frightened.  He  consents  to  carry  Faust 
to  Margaret's  dungeon,  and  give  his  assistance  in  car- 
rying her  off. 

One  more  scene  concludes  the  First  Part — the  inter- 
view between  Margaret  and  Faust  in  the  dungeon.  It 
is  heart-rending  in  its  tragic  power.  Margaret,  ren- 
dered insane  by  her  misery— and  we  are  given  to  un- 
derstand that  the  crime  for  which  she  is  condemned 
was  insanely  committed — does  not  recognize  her  lover. 
She  takes  Faust  to  be  the  jailer,  and  pleads  piteously 
for  her  life.  At  last  she  begins  to  remember,  but 
dimly  and  incoherently  :  she  takes  no  notice  of  Faust's 
agonizing  efforts  to  persuade  her  to  fly  with  him.  I  will 
quote  the  last  half  of  the  scene  : 


Meine  Mutter  hab'   icli   umge- 

braclit, 
Mein  Kind  hab'  icli  ertrankt. 

War  es  niclit  dir   und  mir  ge- 

schenkt  ? 
Dir  audi — Du  bist's  !  icb  glaub' 

es  kaum. 
Gieb  deine  Hand  !     Es  ist  kcin 

Traum  ! 
Deine  liebelland  ! — Acb,  abersie 

ist  feucbt  ! 
Wische  sie  ab  !  Wie  mich  daucht, 

Ist  Blut  dran, 

Acb  Qott !  Was  bastdu  getban  ! 

Stecke  den  Degen  ein, 

Icb  bitte  dicb  drum  ! 


Maeg^vret. 

My  motber  bave  I  put  to  death  ; 


I've  drowned  tlie  baby  born  to 
thee. 

Was  it  not  given  to  thee  and 
me? 

Thee,  too  ! — 'Tis  thou  !  It  scarce- 
ly true  doth  seem — 

Give  me  thy  band  I  'Tis  not  a 
dream  ! 

Thy  dear,  dear  band  ! — But,  ah, 
'tis  wet  ! 

Why,  wipe  it  off !  Methinks 
that  yet 

There's  blood  thcroon. 

Ah,  God  !  what  hast  thou  done"? 

Nay,  sheathe  thy  sword  at  last  I 

Do  not  affray  me  ! 


364: 


GERMAN  LITEBATUBE. 
Faust. 


Lass  das  Vergangue  vergangen      0,  let  the  past  be  past  I 

sein  1 
Du  bringst  mich  um.  Thy  words  will  slay  me 


Maegabet. 


Nein,  du  musst  iibrig  bleiben  I 
Ich    will    dir    die    Griiber     be- 

scbreiben, 
Fiir  die  musst  du  sorgen 
Gleich  morgen  ; 
Der  Mutter  den  besten  Platz  ge- 

ben, 
Meinen  Bruder  sogleicb  darne- 

ben, 
Mich  ein  wenig  bei  Seit'  ! 
Nur  nicht  gar  zu  weit  ! 
Und  das  Kleine  mir  an  die  rechte 

Brust. 
Nieinand    wird    sonst    bei    mir 

liegen  ! 
Mich  an  deine  Seite  zu  schmie- 

gen, 
Das  war  ein   susses,  ein  holdes 

Gliick! 
Aber  es  will  mir  nicht  mehr  ge- 

lingen  ; 
Mir  ist's  als  miisst'  ich  mich  zu 

dir  zwingen, 
Als  stiessest  du  mich  von  dir  zu- 

riick  ; 
Und  doch  bist  du's  und  blickst 

so  gut,  so  f  romm. 


No,  no  !    Thou  must  outlive  us. 
Now  I'll  tell  thee  the  graves  to 

give  us  : 
Thou  must  begin  to-morrow 
The  work  of  sorrow  ! 
The     best     place    give    to    my 

mother, 
Then    close    at    her    side    my 

brother, 
And  me  a  little  away. 
But  not  too  very  far,  I  pray  ! 
And  here,  on   my  right  breast, 

my  baby  lay. 
Nobody  else  will  lie  beside  me  ! — 

Ah,  within  thine  anns  to  hide 
me. 

That  was  a  sweet  and  a  gracioua 
bliss. 

But  no  more,  no  more  can  I  at- 
tain it. 

I  would  force  myself  on  thee 
and  constrain  it. 

And  it  seems  thou  repel  lest  my 
kiss  : 

And  yet  'tis  thou,  so  good,  so 
kind  to  see  1 


Faust. 

Fiihlst  du,  dass  ich  es  bin,  so      If  thou  feel'st  it  is  I,  then  come 
komm'  I  with  me  I 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST," 


365 


Dahinaus  ? 


Ins  Freie. 


Mabgaket. 

Out  yonder  ? 

Faust. 

To  freedom. 


Makgaeet. 

1st  das  Grab  drauss'  ?  If  the  grave  is  there, 

Lauert  der  Tod,  so  komm' !  Death  lying  in  wait,  then  come  I 

Von    hier  ins   ewige   Ruhebett'  From  here  to  eternal  rest  : 

Und  weiter  keinen  Schritt ; —  No  further  step — no,  no  ! 

Du  gehst  nun  fort  ?  0  Heinrich,  Thou  goest  away  !     0  Henry,  if 
konnt'  ich  mit  I  I  could  go  ! 


Faust. 
Du  kannst  !    So  wolle  nur  !   Die      Thou  canst !   Just  will  it  ! 
Thiir  steht  ofifen.  stands  the  door. 

Margaret. 


Open 


Ich  darf  nicht  fort ;  f  iir  mich  ist 

nichts  zu  hoffen. 
Was  hilf  t  es  fiiehn  ?    Sie  lauern 

doch  mir  auf. 
Es    ist     so    elend,    betteln     zu 

miissen, 
Und  noch  dazu  mit  bosem  Qe- 

wissen  ! 
Es  ist  so  elend  in  der  Fremde 

schweifen, 
Und    sie    werden    mich    doch 

ergreifen  I 


I  dare  not  go  :  there's  no  hope 

any  more. 
Why  should  I  fly  ?    They'll  still 

my  steps  waylay  ! 
It  is  so  wretched,  forced  to  bog 

my  living. 
And  a  bad   conscience   sharper 

misery  giving  ! 
It  is  so  wretched,  to  be  strange, 

forsaken, 
And   I'd   still  be  followed    and 

taken  I 


Ich  bleibe  bei  dir. 


Geschwind  1     Geschwind  ! 
Rettc  dcin  armcs  Kind  I 


Faust. 

I'll  stay  with  thee. 

Margaret. 

Be  quick  !     Be  quick  1 
Save  thy  perishing  child  ! 


366 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Fort !    Immer  den  Weg 

Am  Bach  liinauf, 

Uber  den  Steg, 

In  den  Wald  liinein 

Links,  wo  die  Planke  steht, 

Im  Teicli. 

Fass'  es  nur  gleicli  I 
Es  will  sich  lieben, 
Es  zappelt  nocli  ! 
Eette  I    Rette  I 


Away  !    Follow  the  ridge 

Up  by  the  brook, 

Over  the  bridge, 

Into  the  wood. 

To  the  left,  where  the  plank  is 

placed 
In  the  pool  I 
Seize  it  in  haste  I 
'Tis  trying  to  rise, 
'Tis  struggling  still  I 
Save  it !     Save  it  I 


Fatjst. 


Besinne  dich  doch  ! 
Nur   Einen   Schritt,  so  hist  du 
frei  I 


Recall  thy  wandering  will  1 
One  step,  and  thou  art  free  at 

last  ! 


Margaret. 


Waren  wir  nur  den  Berg  vorbei  I 

Da  sitzt  meine  Mutter  auf  einem 

Stein, 
Es  f  asst  mich  kalt  beim  Schopf  e  ! 
Da  sitzt  meine  Mutter  auf  einem 

Stein 
Und  wackelt  mit  dem  Kopfe  ; 
Sie  wiukt  nicht,  sie  nickt  nicht, 

der  Kopf  ist  ihr  schwer  ; 
Sie  schlief  so  lange,  sie  wacht 

nicht  mehr. 
Sie  schlief,  damit  wir  uns  freu- 

ten. 
Es  waren  gliickliche  Zeiten  ! 


If  the  mountain  we  had  only 
passed  ! 

There  sits  my  mother  upon  a 
stone, — 

I  feel  an  icy  shiver  ! 

There  sits  my  mother  upon  a 
stone. 

And  her  head  is  wagging  ever. 

She  beckons,  she  nods  not,  her 
heavy  head  falls  o'er  ; 

She  slept  so  long  that  she  wakes 
no  more. 

She  slept,  while  we  were  caress- 
ing : 

Ah,  those  were  the  days  of  bless- 
ing ! 


Faust. 


Hilft  hier  kein  Flehen,  hilft  kein 

Sagen  ; 
So  wag'  ich's,   dich   hinweg  zu 

tragen. 


Here    words    and    prayers    are 

nothing  worth  ; 
I'll  venture,  then,  to  bear  thee 

forth. 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST.-' 


367 


Makgaket. 

Lass  micli !     Nein,    ich    leide  No — let  me  go  !      I'll  suffer  no 

keine  Gewalt  !  force  I 

Fasse  micli  niclit  so  morderiscli  Grasp  me  not  so  murderously  ! 

an ! 

Sonst  hab'  ich  dir  ja  Alles  zu  I've  done,  else,  all  tilings  for  tlie 

Lieb'  gethan.  love  of  thee. 

Faust. 

Der  Tag  grant !  Liebclien  !  Lieb-      Tbe  day  dawns  ;  Dearest !  Dear- 
chen  I  est  I 


Margaret. 


Tag !  Ja,  es  -wird  Tag  !  der  letzte 

Tag  dringt  herein  ! 
Mein  Hochzeittag  sollt'  es  sein  ! 
Sag'  Niemand,  dass  du  schon  bei 

Gretchen  warst. 
Weh  meinem  Krauze  I 

Es  ist  eben  geschehn  ! 
Wir   werden    uns   wiedersehn  ; 
Aber  nicht  beim  Tanze. 
DieMenge  driingt  sich,  manhort 

sie  nicht. 
Der  Platz,  die  Gassen 
Konnen  sie  nicht  fassen. 
Die  Glocke  ruft,   das   Stabchen 

bricht. 
Wie  sie  michbinden  und  packen  ! 

Zum    Blutstuhl  bin  ich  schon 

entriickt. 
Schon  zuckt  nach  jedem  Nacken 

Die  SchJirfe,  die  nach  meinem 

ziickt, 
Stumm  liegt  die  Welt  wie  das 

Grab  ! 


Day  ?  Yes,  the  day  comes, — the 
last  day  breaks  for  me  ! 

My  wedding-day  it  was  to  be  ! 

Tell  no  one  thou  hast  been  with 
Margaret  ! 

Woe  for  my  garland  1  The 
chances 

Are  over — 'tis  all  in  vain  I 

We  shall  meet  once  again, 

But  not  at  the  dances  ! 

The  crowd  is  thronging,  no  word 
is  spoken  : 

The  square  below 

And  the  streets  overflow  : 

The  death-bell  tolls,  the  wand  is 
broken. 

I  am  seized,  and  bound,  and  de- 
livered— 

Shoved  to  the  block — they  give 
the  sign  ! 

Now  over  each  neck  has  quiv- 
ered 

The  blade  that  is  quivering  over 
mine. 

Dumb  lies  the  world  like  the 
grave  ! 


3G8  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Faust. 
O  war'  ich  nie  geboren  !  0  had  I  ne'er  been  bom  I 

Mephistopheles  {appears  outside). 

Auf  !  oder  ihr  seid  verloren.  OfE !  or  you're  lost  ere  morn. 

Unniitzes  Zagen  !    Zaudern  und  Useless    talking,    delaying   and 

Plaudern  !  praying  ! 

Meine  Pferde  scliaudern,  My  horses  are  neighing  : 

Der  Morgen  damme rt  auf.  The  morning  twilight  is  near. 

Mahgaret. 

Was    steigt    aus    dem    Boden  What  rises  up  from  the  threshold 

herauf  ?  here  ? 

Der  !  der  !     Schick'  ihn  fort  !  He  !  he  !  sufEer  him  not ! 

Was  will  der  an  dem  heiligen  What  does  he  want  in  this  holy 

Ort  ?  spot  ? 

Er  will  mich  !  He  seeks  me  ! 

Faust. 
Du  sollst  leben  !  Thou  shalt  live. 

Margaret. 

Gericht  Gottes !     Dir  hab'  ich      Judgment   of    God !    myself  to 
mich  ilbergeben  1  thee  I  give. 

Mephistopheles  {to  Faust). 

Komm  !   Komm  !  Ich  lasse  dich      Come  !  or  I'll  leave  her  in  the 
mit  ihr  im  Stich.  lurch,  and  thee  ! 

Margabet. 

Dein    bin    ich,    Vater  I     Eette      Thine  am  I,  Father  I  rescue  me  ! 

mich  ! 
Ihr  Engel,  ihr  heiligen  Schaaren,       Ye  angels,  holy  cohorts,  guard 

me, 
Lagert  euch  umher,  mich  zu  be-      Camp    around,    and    from    evil 

wahren  !  ward  me  ! 

Heinrich  !    Mir  grant's  vor  dir.        Henry  !   I  shudder  to  think  of 

thee. 


GOETHE'S  ''FAUST."  369 

Mephistopheles. 
Sie  ist  gericlitet  !  She  is  judged  I 

Voice  {from  above). 
Ist  gerettet !  She  is  saved  \ 

Mephistopheles  {to  Faust). 
Her  zu  mir  !  Hither  to  me ! 

{He  disappears  xcitli  Faust.) 

Voice  {from  witMn,  dying  away). 
Heinrich  !    Heinrich  !  Henry  !     Henry  1 


This  is  all  of  ^^ Faust "  that  is  known  to  most  readers. 
But  you  will  notice  that  the  evolution  of  the  great  plan 
is  only  commenced  :  the  riddle  has  not  even  approached 
its  explanation.  Of  all  the  usual  experiences  of  men, 
Faust  has  only  been  drawn  to  love,  but  love  so  inter- 
fused with  conscience  and  remorse,  that  the  happy 
moment  has  not  yet  blessed  him.  The  compact  with 
Mephistopheles  still  holds  :  he  has  not  won  his  wager, 
although  we  may  guess  that  he  thinks  so. 

After  the  compact  was  made,  he  says  to  Faust,  "  We 
will  first  see  the  little  and  then  the  great  world." 
By  the  "  little  world,"  he  means  the  individual  expe- 
rience of  the  emotions  and  passions  of  human  nature ; 
and  this  is  the  reason  why  Faust  was  made  young  again 
by  the  magic  draught  in  the  witches'  kitchen.  By  the 
"  great  Avorld,"  he  means  the  experience  of  a  life  mov- 
16* 


370  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

ing  on  a  broad  field  of  activity,  among  men,  and  in  sta- 
tions where  its  influence  will  be  felt  by  thousands,  or 
millions,  of  the  race.  In  this  greater  world,  Mephis- 
topheles  has  every  opportunity  to  display  his  evil  talent, 
and  to  annihilate  the  germs  of  good  which  baffle  him  in 
Faust's  nature.  The  Second  Part  is  therefore  wholly 
different  in  its  character.  It  is  crowded  with  char- 
acters, and  its  events  are  displayed  on  a  grand  stage — 
so  grand,  indeed,  that  Goethe  was  forced  to  introduce 
the  element  of  allegory,  and  make  single  persons  typify 
whole  classes  of  society.  It  requires  a  ripe  and  rather 
philosophical  mind  to  appreciate  this  part  properly, 
because  Faust  loses  something  of  his  strong  human 
individuality  by  coming  under  the  control  of  ideas 
instead  of  passions.  He  leaves  behind  him  the  expe- 
riences through  which  he  touches  the  lives  of  all  men, 
and  rises  to  those  wherein  he  touches  only  the  lives  of 
the  men  who  think  and  aspire. 

In  the  opening  scene  we  find  Faust  sleeping,  while 
Ariel,  accompanied  by  ^olian  harps,  chants  the  pro- 
gressive watches  of  the  night,  the  restorative  influences 
of  Nature.  This  chant  embodies  an  important  feature 
of  Goethe's  creed,  which  he  has  expressed  more  fully 
in  other  works.  He  believed  most  devoutly  in  pre- 
serving moral  and  spiritual  health.  If  there  is  a  moral 
wound,  it  must  be  healed,  leaving  perhaps  a  scar  be- 
hind it ;  but  it  must  not  be  kept  as  an  open  sore.  The 
chronic  inflammation  of  remembrance  and  remorse  must 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  371 

be  avoided.  Tlie  true  atonement  for  a  wrong  commit- 
ted does  not  lie  in  nursing  the  pain  it  leaves,  but  in 
restoration  to  cheerfulness  and  courage  and  hope,  for 
the  sake  of  others. 

Faust  awakes  to  a  scene  of  sunrise  among  the  Alps, 
a  piece  of  superb  description.  We  learn  that  his  nature 
is  calmed  and  refreshed — that,  forgetting  his  Past,  he 
is  ready  to  face  Life  again  with  fresh  courage.  In 
fact,  he  afterwards  only  once  refers  to  anything  in  the 
First  Part. 

The  next  scene  introduces  us  to  the  Court  of  the 
Emperor,  who  appears  on  his  throne,  surrounded  by 
his  ministers  and  lords.  Mephistopheles  has  taken 
the  place  of  Court  Fool.  The  various  ministers  make 
reports,  each  more  discouraging  than  the  other.  Tlie 
treasury  is  empty ;  the  realm  is  lawless  and  disorgan- 
ized ;  the  knights  and  burghers  are  at  war,  and  the 
allies  and  tributary  states  are  unfaithful.  Money,  how- 
ever, is  the  great  need,  and  Mephistopheles  proj^oses 
to  supply  it  by  digging  up  all  the  treasure  buried  in 
the  soil  since  the  old  Pioman  times.  The  proposition 
meets  with  favor,  but  the  subject  is  postponed  until 
after  the  Carnival,  which  is  near  at  hand. 

This  Carnival  is  an  allegorical  masquerade,  repre- 
senting Society.  The  young  of  both  sexes  appear  as 
flower-girls  and  gardeners.  Intriguing  mothers,  with 
marriageable  daughters  ;  rude,  offensive  natures  ;  social 
mountebanks,  parasites,  roues;   the  Graces,  typifying 


372  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

refinement ;  tlie  Fates  ;  tlie  Fni'ies,  emblematic  of  slan- 
der and  malice ;  Victory,  mounted  on  an  elephant, 
which  is  guided  by  Prudence,  while  Fear  and  Hope 
walk  on  either  side  ;  a  chariot  driven  by  a  boy  personi- 
fying Poetry,  while  Plutus  sits  within  and  Avarice 
hangs  on  behind — all  these  characters  meet  and  mingle 
as  they  are  found  in  the  society  of  the  world.  The 
part  of  Plutus  is  taken  by  Faust,  while  Mephistopheles, 
true  to  his  character  of  negation,  wears  the  mask  of 
Avarice.  The  Emperor  himself  appears  as  Pan,  at- 
tended by  Fauns,  Satyrs,  Nymphs  and  Gnomes.  The 
form  of  the  verse  constantly  varies  in  this  scene ;  it  is 
full  of  the  richest  and  rarest  rhythmical  effects. 

In  the  next  scene  the  Emperor  finds  the  aspect  of 
affairs  completely  changed.  The  treasury  is  filled,  the 
troops  are  paid,  commerce  flourishes,  and  the  whole 
realm  is  prosperous.  He  learns  that  during  the  confu- 
sion of  the  Carnival,  he  has  been  persuaded  to  sign 
a  document,  which  was  really  a  decree  for  the  issuing 
of  paper  money,  redeemable  in  gold — after  the  buried 
Eoman  treasures  shall  be  discovered  and  dug  up.  Some 
of  the  features  of  this  scene  are  taken  from  the  Missis- 
sippi scheme  of  John  Law.  Goethe's  first  intention 
was  to  deal  with  politics  instead  of  finance,  and  we 
must  regi-et  that  he  afterwards  changed  his  plan.  Meph- 
istopheles presents  Faust  to  the  Emperor  as  the  orig- 
inator of  the  paper-money,  and  the  latter  appoints 
him,  with  the  Chancellor,  to  direct  the  finances  of  the 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  373 

realm.  In  tliis  scheme,  we  see  tlie  effort  of  Mepliis- 
topheles  to  initiate  Faust  into  public  life  as  the  surest 
means  to  corrupt  liim  ;  but  we  shall  soon  find  that  the 
evil  nature  has  made  a  mistake. 

The  Emperor  is  so  impressed  by  Faust's  marvellous 
power  that  he  desires  a  special  exhibition  of  his  art: 
he  commands  him  to  summon  the  shades  of  Paris  and 
Helen  to  appear  before  his  Court.  You  will  remember 
that  this  was  a  part  of  the  original  Faust-legend,  and 
was  retained  in  some  of  the  puppet  plays.  Faust  calls 
Mephistopheles  to  his  aid,  but  the  latter  hesitates  to 
assist  him.  The  task  is  difiicult  and  dangerous  :  Faust 
must  descend  to  the  Mothers,  holding  in  his  liand  a 
key  which  Mephistopheles  gives  him,  and  touch  with 
it  a  tripod.  The  Mothers  are  vague  existences,  who 
dwell  outside  the  bounds  of  Time  and  Space.  The 
Court  assembles,  Faust  rises  with  the  tripod,  Paris 
appears  and  then  Helen.  The  members  of  the  Court 
criticise  their  beauty  in  the  true  fashionable  style,  with 
impertinent  praise  or  absurd  censure.  But  we  see  that 
Faust  is  seized  with  a  passionate  adoration  of  the 
beauty  of  Helen,  and  avo  now  begin  to  suspect  that 
she  is  something  more  than  a  mere  form.  She  repre- 
sents, in  fact,  the  abstract  sense  of  Beauty,  the  in- 
forming spirit  of  all  Art,  the  basis  of  the  higliest 
human  culture.  The  honors  heaped  upon  him  by  the 
Emperor,  the  hollow  splendors  of  Court  life,  have 
only   touched    the   surface   of    Faust's   nature.      This 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


vision  of  an  Ideal  of  Beauty  masters  and  draws  him 
after  it. 

In  tlie  Second  Act  we  are  introduced  to  Faust's  old 
chamber,  and  to  his  Famulus,  Wagner,  who  has  taken 
his  jjlace,  and  is  trying,  like  the  alchemists  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  to  elaborate  a  human  being,  a  Homunculus, 
by  mixing  together  the  chemical  substances  of  which 
the  body  is  composed.  Mephistopheles,  by  a  trick, 
makes  the  experiment  successful,  and  the  Homunculus 
guides  him  and  Faust  to  the  Pharsalian  Fields,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Peneios,  in  Thessaly.  Here  we  have  a 
classical,  or  Grecian  Walpurgis-Night,  in  contrast  to 
the  Gothic  one  of  the  First  Part.  Faust  has  but  one 
thought — to  find  Helen,  while  Mephistopheles  wanders 
about  among  the  forms  of  the  earliest  mythology,  feel- 
ing rather  uncomfortable,  and  a  little  uncertain  what 
course  to  pursue. 

The  number  of  characters  is  very  great.  Griffins, 
Pygmies,  Sphinxes,  Syrens,  Chiron  the  Centaur,  Em- 
mets, Dactyls,  Lamiae,  the  Phorkyads,  Thales,  Anaxa- 
goras,  Nereus,  Proteus,  Nereids  and  Tritons,  Telchines 
of  Rhodes,  and  the  sea-nymph  Galatea,  all  take  part  in 
this  wonderful  moonlight  spectacle.  A  great  deal  of 
the  action  has  no  connection  with  Faust.  Thales  and 
Anaxagoras  are  the  representatives  of  the  Neptunic 
and  Plutonic  theories  in  Geology,  and  Goethe,  as  a 
Neptunist,  takes  special  pains  to  ridicule  the  opposite 
views.     All  this,  however,  must  be  set  aside  :  then,  by 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST." 


375 


carefully  examining  what  is  left,  we  find  that  it  repre- 
sents the  gradual  growth  of  the  element  of  Beauty,  in 
Art  and  Eeligion,  from  the  first  rude  beginnings  in 
Phoenicia  and  Egypt,  until  it  culminates  in  the  immor- 
tal symmetry  of  the  Grecian  mind.  Since  Goethe  gives 
a  moral,  even  a  saving  power  to  Beauty,  his  object  is 
now  not  difficult  to  understand. 

Faust,  meanwhile,  has  gone  to  Hades,  to  implore  Per- 
sephone to  release  Helen ;  but  we  are  not  informed 
how  this  is  accomplished.  As  a  specimen  of  the  versi- 
fication of  the  classical  Walpurgis-Night,  I  will  give  the 
chorus  of  the  Telchines  of  Rhodes  : 


Wir   habeQ   den   Dreizack  Nep- 

tunen  gescliiniedet, 
Womit  er  die  regesten  Wellen 

begutet. 
Entfaltet      der      Donnrer      die 

Wollien,  die  vollen, 
Entgegnet  Neptunus  dem  grilu- 

liclien  Rollen  ; 
Und  wie  aucli  von  oben  es  zackig 

erblitzt, 
Wird    Woge    nacli    Woge  von 

unten  gespritzt  ; 
Und  was    audi   dazwischen    in 

Aengsten  gerungen, 
Wird,  lauge  gesclileudert,  vom 

Tiefsten  verschlungen  ; 
Wesshalb  er  uns  heute  den  Scep- 
ter gereicht, — 
Nun  scliweben  wir  festlich,  be- 

rubigt  und  leicht. 


We've  forged  for  old  Neptune 
the  trident  that  urges 

To  smoothness  and  peace  the  re- 
fractory surges. 

When  Jove  tears  the  clouds  of 
the  tempest  asunder, 

'Tis  Neptune  encounters  the  roll 
of  the  thunder  : 

The  lightnings  above  may  inces- 
santly glow. 

But  wave  upon  wave  dashes  up 
from  below, 

And  all  that,  between  them,  the 
terrors  o'erpowcr. 

Long  tossed  and  tormented,  the 
Deep  shall  devour  ; 

And  thence  he  has  lent  us  his 
sceptre  to-day. — 

Now  float  we  contented,  in  festal 
array. 


The   Third   Act   is  generally  called  "The  Helena. 


376  GERMAN  LITEBATUItE. 

Tlie  scene  opens  in  Sparta,  whither  Helen  has  just  re- 
turned from  Troy,  in  advance  of  Menelaus.  In  this  act 
Mephistopheles  appears  as  Phorkyas,  a  hideous  old 
woman.  Helen  being  Primitive  Beauty,  he,  of  course, 
is  obliged  to  become  Primitive  Ugliness.  I  must  com- 
press the  incidents  of  the  act  into  a  very  brief  space. 
Helen,  flying  from  the  vengeance  of  Menelaus,  finds 
herself  suddenly  in  the  court-yard  of  a  Gothic  castle, 
the  lord  of  which  is  Faust.  He  makes  her  queen  of  his 
domain,  their  nuptials  are  celebrated,  and  they  become 
the  parents  of  a  son,  Euphorion.  In  all  this  there  is 
a  double  allegory.  Helen  is  not  only  the  ideal  of  the 
Beautiful,  which  rescues  Faust  from  the  excesses  of 
passion  and  worldly  ambition,  but  she  also  stands  for 
the  classical  element  in  Literature  and  Art.  Faust  is 
not  only  the  type  of  man,  working  his  way  upward  by 
the  development  of  his  finer  faculties,  but  he  also 
stands  for  the  romantic  element  in  Literature  and  Art. 
This  secondary  meaning  is  added  to  the  primary  idea 
upon  which  the  whole  work  is  based.  Euphorion,  there- 
fore, is  the  union  of  the  classic  and  romantic  spirits  in 
one  person.  He  is  a  perfect  embodiment  of  Goethe's  own 
poetry ;  but  as  Byron's  death,  at  the  time  when  this  act 
was  written,  powerfully  affected  Goethe,  he  determined 
to  make  Euphorion  a  distinct  representative  of  Byron. 
The  act  closes  with  the  death  of  Euphorion  and  the  dis- 
appearance of  Helen,  whose  garments,  left  behind  her, 
turn  into  clouds  and  bear  Faust  away.     As  a  specimen 


GOETHE'S  ' 'FA UST." 


377 


of  tlie  noblest  literary  art,  the  "  Helena  "  is  matcliless  : 
the  more  it  is  read  and  studied,  the  more  its  wonderful 
beauty  grows  upon  the  reader.  The  first  half  of  it  is 
written  in  pure  Greek  metres,  the  latter  half  in  short 
rhymed  stanzas  that  sound  like  the  clash  of  cymbals. 
I  will  only  quote  from  it  the  Dirge  sung  by  the  Chorus, 
on  the  death  of  Euphorion,  because  it  is  wholly  descrip- 
tive of  Byron  : 


Nicht  allein  ! — wo  du  auch  wei- 

lest, 
Denn    wir    glauben     dich     zu 

kennen  ; 
Ach  !  wenn  du  dem  Tag  entei- 

lest, 
Wird  kein   Herz   von  dir   sicli 

trennen, 
Wiissten    wir    doch    kaum     zu 

klagen, 
Neidend  singen  wir  dein  Loos  : 
Dir  in  klar  und  triiben  Tagen 

Lied  und  Muth  war  schon  und 
gross. 

Ach  !  zum  Erdenglixck  geboren. 

Holier  Abnen,  grosser  Kraft, 

Leider  !  f riib  dir  selbst  verloren, 
Jugendbliitbe  weggerafft  ; 
Scbarfer    Blick,    die    Welt    zu 

schauen, 
Mitsinn  jedem  Ilerzensdrang, 
Liebesglutb  der  besten  Frauen 

Und  ein  eigenster  Gcsang. 


Not  alone  !  wliere'er  tliou  bidest ; 

For  we  know  tbee  what  tbou 
art. 

Ab  !  if  from  the  Day  tbou  bid- 
est, 

Still  to  tbee  will  cling  each 
heart. 

Scarce  we  venture  to  lament 
tbee, 

Singing,  envious  of  thy  fate  ; 

For  in  storm  and  sun  were  lent 
thee 

Song  and  courage,  fair  and  great. 


Ah !  for  earthly  fortune  fash- 
ioned. 

Strength  was  thine,  and  proud 
descent  ; 

Early  erring,  o'er-impassioned. 

Youth,  alas!  from  tbee  was  rent. 

For  the  world  thine  eye  was 
rarest, 

All  the  heart  to  tbee  was  known  ; 

Thine  were  loves  of  women  fair- 
est, 

And  a  song  thy  very  own. 


378 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Doch  du  ranntest  unaufhaltsam 
Frei  ins  willenlose  Netz  ; 
Soentzweitest  du  gewaltsam 
Diet  init  Sitte,  mit  Gesetz  ; 
Doch  zuletzt  das  hOcliste  Sinnen 

Gab  dem  reinen  Mutli  Gewiclit, 
Wolltest  Herrliches  gewinnen, 

Aber  es  gelang  dir  nicht. 


Yet  thou  rannest  uncontrolledly 
In  the  net  the  fancies  draw, 
Thus  thyself  divorcing  boldly 
As  from  custom,  so  from  law  ; 
Till    the    highest    thought   ex- 
pended 
Set  at  last  thy  courage  free  : 
Thou  wouldst  win  achievement 

splendid, 
But  it  was  not  given  to  thee. 


Wemgelingt  es? — Triibe  Frage, 

Der    das     Schicksal     sich    ver- 

mummt, 
Wenn      am      ungliickseligsten 

Tage 
Blutend  alles  Volk  verstummt. 
Doch  erfrischet  neue  Lieder, 

Steht     nicht     liinger    tief     ge- 

beugt ! 
Denn  der  Boden  zeugt  sie  wieder, 
Wie  von  je  er  sie  gezeugt. 


Unto    whom,    then?     Question 

dreary. 
Destiny  will  never  heed  ; 

When  in  evil  days  and  weary, 

Silently  the  people  bleed. 

But  new  songs  shall  still  elate 

them  : 
Bow  no  longer  and  deplore  ! 

For  the  soil  shall  generate  them, 
As  it  hath  done  heretofore. 


The  Fourtli  Act  was  written  in  Goethe's  eighty-sec- 
ond year,  and  is  the  least  important  of  all.  Faust  cannot 
live  and  find  the  satisfaction  of  his  life  in  the  service 
of  the  Beautiful,  but  its  garments  bear  him  above  the 
stony  ways  of  the  Earth,  and  it  is  thenceforth  his  com- 
fort and  the  consecration  of  his  days.  He  now  insists 
on  a  new  field  of  activity :  he  means  to  compel  Nature 
to  the  service  of  man.  There  is  a  part  of  the  Emperor's 
realm  which  is  uninhabitable,  because  at  times  inun- 
dated by  the  sea :  this  he  will  dike  and  drain,  make  fit 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  379 

for  population,  and  people  witli  active  colonists.  Mephis- 
topheles  is  bound  to  obey  his  commands,  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  act  is  taken  up  with  the  description  of  a 
battle  which  is  won  for  the  Emperor  by  his  assistance. 
In  return,  Faust  is  presented  with  a  title  to  the  vast  sea- 
swept  marshes  he  desires  to  possess. 

In  the  last  act,  the  great  work  is  accomplished.  There 
is  a  fertile,  populous  province,  intersected  by  navigable 
canals,  in  place  of  the  sea.  A  harbor  for  commerce  has 
been  built,  and  near  it,  in  the  midst  of  gardens,  stands  the 
palace  of  Faust.  Only  two  things  remain  to  be  done — 
to  drain  the  last  remnant  of  marsh,  and  to  gain  posses- 
sion of  a  little  cottage  and  chapel,  near  at  hand,  belong- 
ing to  an  old  couj)le  who  refuse  to  sell  or  leave  it. 
Faust  has  not  yet  found  his  perfectly  happy  moment, 
though  he  is  now  nearly  one  hundred  years  old.  Mephis- 
topheles,  whom  we  may  suppose  to  be  very  impatient 
by  this  time,  endeavors  to  hasten  matters  by  frightening 
the  old  couple  to  death  and  burning  down  the  cottage 
and  chapel.  Faust  curses  the  rash,  inhuman  deed,  and 
Mephistopheles  is  once  more  baflfled. 

We  now  feel  that  the  end  approaches.  The  scene 
changes  to  midnight,  before  the  palace  of  Faust.  Four 
gray  women  enter:  one  is  Want,  another  Guilt,  the 
third  Necessity  and  the  fourth  Care.  The  palace  is 
barred  against  them — Want,  Guilt  and  Necessity  retire, 
but  Care  slips  in  through  the  key-hole.  Faiist  defies 
her,  but  she  breathes  on  his  eyes,  and  he  becomes  blind. 


380 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


But,  in  exchange  for  tlie  external  darkness,  his  spirit  is 
filled  with  light :  at  last  he  sees  clearly.  He  urges  on 
the  work  with  haste  and  energy  :  "  one  mind,"  he  says, 
"  suffices  for  a  thousand  hands."  He  gropes  along,  feel- 
ing his  way  out  of  the  joalace,  and  listens  to  the  clatter- 
ing of  the  sj^ades,  which,  day  and  night,  are  employed 
in  draining  the  last  marsh.  He  feels  that  he  has  over- 
come the  hostile  forces  of  Nature,  and  created  new 
homes  for  millions  of  the  race.  Filled  with  this  grand 
consciousness,  he  exclaims : 


Ja  !  diesem  Sinne  bin  icli  ganz 

ergeben, 
Das    ist  der    Weislieit    letzter 

Scliluss  : 
Nur  der  verdient  sicli  Preibeit 

wie  das  Leben, 
Der  tiiglicb  sie  eroberii  muss. 

Und  so  verbringt,  umrungen  von 

Gefabr, 
Hier  Kindbeit,  Mann  und  Greis 

sein  tiicbtig  Jabr. 
Solcb'  ein  Gewimmel  mocbt'  icb 

sehn, 
Auf  freiem   Grand   mit  freiem 

Volke  stebn, 
Zum  Augenblicke  diirft'  icb  sa- 

gen: 
Verweile  docb,  du  bist  so  scbtin! 

Es  kann  die  Spur  von    meinen 

Erdetagen 
Nicbt  in  Aeonen  untergebn. — 


Yes !    to  tbis  tbougbt    I    bold 

witb  firm  persistence  ; 
Tbe  last  result  of  wisdom  stamps 

it  true  : 
He  only  earns  bis  freedom  and 

existence, 
Wbo      daily     conquers     tbem 

anew. 
Tbus  bere,  by  dangers  girt,  sball 

glide  away 
Of    cbildbood,    manbood,    age, 

tbe  vigorous  day : 
And  sucb  a  tbrong  I  fain  would 

see, — 
Stand  on  free  soil  among  a  peo- 
ple free  ! 
Tben   dared  I  bail  tbe  Moment 

fleeing  : 
"  AJi,   still  delay — thou  art  so 

fair  /  " 
Tbe     traces     cannot,    of    mine 

eartbly  being. 
In     aeons    perisb,  —  tbey    are 

tbere  ! — 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  381 

Im  Vorgof iihl  von  solcliem  ho-  In  proud  fore-feeling  of  sucli 
hen  Gliick  lofty  bliss, 

Geuiess'  ich  jetzt  den  hochsten  I  now  enjoy  the  highest  Mo- 
Augenblick.  ment, — this  ! 

He  has  said  the  words  :  the  compact  is  at  an  end  ;  and 
he  sinks  to  the  ground,  dead.  Mephistopheles  has  won, 
to  all  appearance.  Standing  beside  the  body,  he  calls 
tip  the  hosts  of  Hell  to  surround  him  and  take  joint 
possession  of  the  soul.  But  while  he  addresses  them 
in  a  strain  of  blasphemous  exultation,  a  glory  of  light 
falls  from  above.  The  angels  appear,  scattering  celes- 
tial roses,  and  chanting : 

Rosen,  ihr  blendenden,  Roses,  ye  glowing  ones, 

Balsam  versendenden  1  Balsam-bestowing  ones! 

Flatternde,  schwebende.  Fluttering,  quivering, 

Heimlich  belebende.  Sweetness  delivering, 

Zweigleinbefiugelte,        '  Branching  unblightedly, 

Knospenentsiegelte,  Budding  delightedly, 

Eilet  zu  bliihn  !  Bloom  and  be  seen  ! 

Friihling  entspriesse.  Springtime  declare  him, 

Purpur  und  Griin  !  .  In  purple  and  green  I 

Tragt  Paradiese  Paradise  bear  him, 

Dem  Ruhenden  hin.  The  Sleeper  serene  I 

The  Devils  are  driven  back  by  this  shower  of  roses, 
which  burn  them  worse  than  the  infernal  pitch  and 
sulphur :  the  angels  seize  and  bear  aloft  the  immortal 
part  of  Faust,  and  Mephistopheles  is  left  to  gnash  his 
teeth  in  impotent  rage.  The  last  scene  is  laid  in  some 
region  of  Heaven.  After  chants  of  ecstatic  adoration 
by  the  souls  of  saints,  the  angels  who  bear  the  spirit 


382 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


of  Faust  sing — and  I  beg  you  to  mark  the  words  care- 
fully: 


Gerettet  ist  das  edle  Glied 
DerQeisterwelt  vom  Btisen  ; 
Wer  immer   strebend    sich  be- 

mulit, 
Den  kcinnen  wir  erlosen  ; 
Und  hat  an  ilim  die  Liebe  gar 
Von  oben  Theil  genommen, 
Begegnet  ihm  die  selige  Schaar 

Mit  lierzlichem  Willkonunen. 


The  noble  Spirit  now  is  free, 
And  saved  from  evil  scheming  : 
Whoe'er  aspires  unweariedly 

Is  not  beyond  redeeming. 
And  if  he  feels  the  grace  of  Love 
That  from  On  High  is  given. 
The  Blessed    Hosts,   that  wait 

above. 
Shall  welcome  him  to  Heaven  1 


These  are  the  elements  of  Faust's  salvation,  and  they 
at  once  recall  to  our  mind  the  words  of  the  Lord  to 
Mephistopheles,  in  the  Prologue  in  Heaven :  "  Thou 
shalt  stand  ashamed  to  see  that  a  good  man,  through 
all  the  obscurity  of  his  natural  impulses,  still  in  his 
heart  has  an  instinct  of  the  one  true  way." 

After  further  chants  by  the  angels,  the  Mater  Gloriosa 
— the  Virgin  Mary,  as  the  Protectress  of  Women — soars 
into  space,  and  the  soul  of  Margaret  "approaches.  She 
is  not  yet  allowed  access  to  the  highest  heavenly  re- 
gions, but  the  hour  of  her  pardon  and  purification  has 
come.     I  will  quote  from  this  point  to  the  end  : 

( The  Mater  Glokiosa  soars  into  the  space.) 
Chorus  op  Women  PENrrENxs. 


Du  schwebst  zu  Hohen 
Der  ewigen  Reiche, 
Vernimm  das  Flehen, 
Du  Ohnegleiche  ! 
Du  Gnaderireiche  I 


To  heights  thou'rt  speeding 
Of  endless  Eden  : 
Receive  our  pleading, 
Transcendent  Maiden, 
With  Mercy  laden  I 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  383 

Magna  Peccatrix.  {St.  Luke,  vii.  36.) 

Bei  der  Liebe,  die  den  Fiissen  By  the  love  before  him  kneel- 

ing.— 

Deines  gottverkliirten  Sohnes  Him,    Thy   Sou,    a  godlike    vi- 

sion ; 

Thranen  liess  zum  Balsam  flies-  By  the  tears  like  balsam  steal - 
sen,  ing, 

Trotz  des  Pharisaer-Hohnes  ;  Spite  of  Pharisees'  derision  ; 

Beim  Gefiisse,  das  so  reichlich  By   the    box,    whose    ointment 

precious 

Tropfte  Wohlgeruch  hernieder ;      Shed  its  spice  and  odors  cheery ; 

Bei  den  Locken,  die  so  weichlich      By    the    locks,    whose    softest 

meshes 

Trockneten  die  heiligen  Glie-  Dried  the  holy  feet  and  weary  !^ 
der — 

MuLiEB  Samabitana.  {St.  John,  iv.) 

Be!  dem  Bronn,  zu  dem  schon  By  that  well,  the  ancient  station 

weiland 

Abram  liess  die  Heerde  filhren  ;  Whither   Abram's    flocks   were 

driven ; 

Bei  dem  Eimer,  der  dem  Heiland  By  the  jar,  whose  restoration 

Kiihl    die    Lippe  durft'    beruh-  To  the  Saviour's  lips  was  given  ; 

ren  ; 

Bei  der  reinen  reichen  Quelle,  By  the  fountain,  pure  and  vernal. 

Die  nun  dorther  sich  ergiesset.  Thence     its     present      bounty 

spending, — 

Ueberfliissig,  ewig  helle.  Overflowing,  bright,  eternal, 

Eings  durch   alle  Welten  flies-  Watering    the    worlds    unend- 

set —  ing  ! — 

Maria  ^gyptiaca.  {Acta  Sanctorum.) 

Bei  dem  hochgeweihten  Orte,  By  the    place,   where  the  Im- 

mortal 

Wo  den  Herrn  man  niederliess  ;       Body  of  the  Lord  hath  lain ; 

Bei  dem  Ai'm,  der  von  der  Pforte      By  the   arm,   which,   from  the 

portal, 

Warnend  mich  zuriicke  stiess  ;         Warning,  thrust  me  back  again  ; 


384 


GERMAN  LITERATURE. 


Bei  der  vierzigjiilirigen  Busse, 
Der  icli  treii  in  Wilsten  blieb  ; 
Bei  dem  seligen  Sclieidegrusse, 
Den  im  Sand  ich  niederschrieb — 


By  tlie  forty  years'  repentance 
In  the  lonely  desert-land  ; 
By  the  blissful  farewell  sentence 
Which  I  wrote  upon  the  sand  ! — 


The 
Die  du  grossen  Siinderinnen 
Deiue  Nahe  nicht  verweigerst 
Und  ein  biissendes  Qewinnen 
In  die  Ewigkeiten  steigerst, 
Gonn'  auch  dieser  guten  Seele, 

Die  sich  einmal  nur  vergessen. 

Die  nicht  ahnte,  dass  sie  fehle, 
Dein  Verzeihen  angemessen  !  * 


Three. 

Thou  Thy  presence  not  deniest 
Unto  sinful  women  ever, — 
Liftest  them  to  win  the  highest 
Gain  of  i^enitent  endeavor, — 
So,   from  this   good  soul  with- 
draw not  — 
^^'ho  but  once  forgot  transgress- 
ing. 
Who  her  loving  error  saw  not — 
Pardon  adequate,  and  blessing  ! 


Una  Pcenitentium 
{formerly  named  Margaret,  stealing  closer). 


Neige,  neige, 

Du  Ohnegleiche, 

Du  Strahlenreiche, 

Dein    Antlitz    gniidig     meinem 

Glilck  ! 
Der  f  riih  Geliebte, 
Nicht  mehr  Getriibte, 
Er  kommt  zuriick. 


Incline,  O  Maiden, 
With  Mercy  laden. 
In  light  unfading, 
Thy  gracious  countenance  upon 

my  bliss  ! 
My  loved,  my  lover. 
His  trials  over 
In  yonder  world,  returns  to  me 

in  this  ! 


Blessed  Boys 

{approaching  in  hovering  circles). 


Er  ilberwachst  uns  schon 
An  miichtigen  Gliedern, 
Wird  treuer  Pflege  Lohn 
Seichlich  erwiedern. 
Wir  wurden  f riih  entfernt 
Von  Lebechoren  ; 
Doch  dieser  hat  gelernt, 
Er  wird  uns  lehren. 


With  mighty  limbs  he  towers 

Already  above  us  ; 

He,  for  this  love  of  ours. 

Will  richlier  love  us. 

Early  were  we  removed, 

Ere  Life  could  reach  us  ; 

Yet  be  hath  learned  and  proved, 

And  he  will  teach  us. 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  385 

The  Penitent 
{formerly  named  Margaret). 
Vom  edlen  Geisterctor  umgeben,       The  spirit-choir  around  him  see- 
ing, 
Wird   sich  der  Neue  kaum  ge-      New  to  himself,  he  scarce  di- 

wahr,  vines 

Er  ahnet  kaum  das  frische  Le-      His  heritage  of  new-born  Being, 

ben. 
So  gleicht  er  schon  der  heiligen       When   like   the  Holy  Host  he 

Schaar.  shines. 

Sieh,  wie  er  jedem  Erdenbande        Behold,  how  he  each  band  hath 

cloven, 
Der  alten  Hiille  sich  entrafft,  The  earthly  life  had  round  him 

thrown, 
Und  aus  aetherischem  Gewande       And  through  his  garb,  of  ether 

woven, 
Hervortritt  erste  Jugendkraft !         The    early    force    of    youth    is 

shown  ! 
Vergonne  mir,  ihn  zu  belehren  !       Vouchsafe  to  me  that  I  instruct 

him  ! 
Noch  blendet  ihn  der  neue  Tag.        Still  dazzles  him  the  Day's  new 

glare. 

Mater  Gloeiosa. 
Komm  I    hebe  dich   zu   hohern      Else,  thou,  to  higher  spheres  I 

Spharen  !  Conduct  him, 

Wenn   er  dich   ahnet,   folgt   er      Who,  feeling  thee,  shall  follow 

nach.  there ! 

Doctor  Marianus 

(^prostrate,  adoring). 
Blicket  auf  zum  Retterblick,  Penitents,  look  up,  elate, 

Alle  reuig  Zarten,  Where  she  beams  salvation  ; 

Euch  zu  seligem  Geschick  Gratefully  to  blessed  fate 

Dankend  umzuarten  1  Grow,  in  re-creation  ! 

Werde  jeder  bessi'e  Sinn  Be  our  souls,  as  they  have  been, 

Dir  zum  Dienst  erbotig  ;  Dedicate  to  Thee  ! 

Jungfrau,  Mutter,  Konigin,  Virgin  Holy,  Mother,  Queen, 

Gottin,  bleibe  gniidig  1  Goddess,  gracious  be  I 

17 


386  GERMAN  LITERATUBE. 

Chorus  Mtstictjs. 

Alles  Vcrgiingliclie  All  things  transitory 

1st  nur  ein  Gleichniss  ;  But  as  symbols  are  sent : 

Das  Unzuliingliche,  Earth's  insufficiency 

Hier  wird's  Ereigniss  ;  Here  grows  to  Event : 

Das  Unbeschreibliche,  The  Indescribable, 

Hier  ist  es  gethan  ;  Here  it  is  done  : 

Das  Ewig-Weibliche  The  Woman-Soul  leadeth  us 

Zieht  uns  hinan.  Upward  and  on  ! 

To  those  who  intend  reading  the  whole  work  for 
themselves,  I  would  add  a  few  words  in  conclusion. 
In  the  characters  of  Faust  and  Mephistopheles  are 
represented  the  continual  strife  between  Good  and 
Evil  in  Man.  The  first  lesson  is  that  man  becomes 
morbid  and  miserable  in  seclusion,  even  though  he  de- 
votes himself  to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge.  He 
must  also  know  the  life  of  the  body  in  the  ojDen  air, 
and  the  society  of  his  fellow-men.  He  must  feel  in  him- 
self the  passions  and  the  impulses  of  the  race  :  in  other 
words,  he  must  first  become  a  man  among  men.  He 
must  fight,  through  his  life,  with  the  powers  of  selfish- 
ness, doubt,  denial  of  all  good,  truth  and  beauty.  Then, 
the  error  and  the  wrong  which  he  may  have  committed 
must  not  clog  his  future  development.  He  must  re- 
cover health  from  moral  as  from  physical  disease.  The 
passion  for  the  Beautiful  must  elevate  and  purify  him, 
saving  him  from  all  the  meanness  and  the  littleness 
which  we  find  in  Society  and  in  all  forms  of  public  life. 
The  restless  impulse,  which  drives  him  forward,  will 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST."  387 

save  liim — that  is,  lead  Lim  constantly  from  one  sphere 
of  being  to  another  that  is  higher  and  clearer — in  spite 
of  error,  in  spite  of  temptation,  in  spite  even  of  vice. 
Only  in  constant  activity  and  struggle  can  he  redeem 
himself — only  in  working  for  the  benefit  of  his  fellow- 
beings  can  he  taste  perfect  happiness.  This  is  the 
golden  current  of  wisdom  which  flows  through  "  Faust" 
from  beginning  to  end. 


xn. 

RICHTER. 

Op  all  the  representative  authors  of  the  great  literary 
era  of  Germany,  he  who  was  known  as  "  Jean  Paul " 
during  his  life,  but  is  now  recovering  his  family  name  of 
Eichter,  is  the  most  difficult  to  describe,  both  in  regard 
to  his  relative  place  and  the  peculiarities  of  his  genius. 
In  the  lives  and  the  works  of  the  other  authors  we  find  a 
greater  or  less  accordance  with  intellectual  laws  ;  while 
he  is  phenomenal,  almost  to  the  point  of  being  abnormal. 
They  reflect  the  interests  and  the  influences  of  their  day, 
as  in  a  clear  mirror, — he  as  in  one  of  those  dark  glass 
globes,  which  we  sometimes  see  in  garjiens,  distorting 
the  reflected  forms  out  of  all  their  natural  proportions. 
During  his  life,  his  circle  of  ardent  admirers  gave  him 
the  name  of  ''  Der  Einzige'''' — the  "only  one,"  or  "the 
unique," — which  may  very  well  serve  as  a  measure 
of  his  literary  character,  if  not  of  his  elevation.  The 
first  impression  which  a  reader  gets  from  his  works  is 
that  he  stands  entirely  alone,  both  with  regard  to  other 
authors  and  to  his  own  age  ;  but  a  longer  and  more 
careful  study  shows  that  his  relations  to  both  have  only 
been  distorted  by  the  unusual  qualities  of  his  mind. 

388 


BICHTEB.  389 

There  are  intellectual  genealogies  in  literature.  Most 
authors  may  be  shown  to  be,  not  the  imitators,  but  the 
spiritual  descendants  of  others,  inheriting  more  or  less 
of  their  natures.  In  this  sense,  the  blood  of  Cowper 
shows  itself  in  Wordsworth,  of  Gibbon  in  Macaulaj,  of 
Keats  in  Tennyson,  or  of  Chaucer,  after  five  hundred 
years,  in  William  Morris.  Among  Richter's  prede- 
cessors, his  nearest  intellectual  ancestor  was  Laurence 
Sterne,  the  author  of  "  Tristram  Shandy  "  and  the  "  Sen- 
timental Journey," — works  which  made  a  much  deeper 
impression  upon  the  literature  of  Germany  than  upon 
that  of  England.  Take  the  main  characteristics  of 
these  works — their  airy,  capricious  humor,  their  unex- 
pected touches  of  pathos,  and  their  brief  but  marvellous 
glimpses  of  human  nature  :  add  all  the  sentiment  of  the 
Storm  and  Stress  period,  with  the  passionate  fury  and 
frenzy  taken  out  of  it ;  add,  also,  a  prodigious  amount 
of  desultory  knowledge  ;  place  this  compound  in  the 
most  willful  and  whimsical  of  human  brains,  and  you 
will  have  a  vague  outline  of  Richter.  The  mixture 
is  so  unusual  and  heterogeneous  that  its  elements 
cannot  be  separated  by  an  ordinary  critical  analysis. 
Even  the  German  critics,  who  are  so  fond  of  dissecting 
an  author's  mind,  and  showing  you  every  hidden  muscle 
and  nerve  which  directs  its  motions,  have  found  Richter 
an  uncomfortable  subject.  He  is  a  lively  corpse,  and 
will  not  hold  still  undei-  their  scalpels. 

I  have  endeavored  to  indicate  to  you  the  special  fields 


390  aSRMAN  LITERATURE. 

of  action  of  the  great  authors  of  whom  I  have  already 
spoken, — to  show  how  some  strong  interest  or  aspira- 
tion of  the  race  found  its  expression  in  each  ;  but 
Eichter  defies  any  such  attempt  to  define  his  position. 
We  can  only  collect  all  scattered  interests,  desires  or 
sentiments  which  the  others  did  not  specially  repre- 
sent, and  we  shall  be  tolerably  sure  to  find  them  some- 
where in  him. 

In  a  single  quality  he  is  pre-eminent.  Not  one  of 
his  illustrious  compeers  approaches  him  as  a  humorist. 
Lessing  possessed  a  keen  and  brilliant  power  of  irony, 
but  he  is  never  purely  humorous.  Klopstock  and 
Herder  had  no  comprehension  of  humor,  and  Schiller 
but  a  very  slight  trace  of  it.  Wieland  shows  most  of 
the  quality,  and  his  "  Abderiten  "  might  almost  be  con- 
sidered a  humorous  work,  but  it  would  be  more  correct 
to  call  it  a  lively  and  playful  satire.  Goethe's  humor  is 
always  severe,  and  sometimes  a  little  ponderous ;  in  his 
comedies  there  is  generally  an  element  of  grotesque- 
ness  and  purposed  absurdity.  But  in  Kichter  humor  is 
an  irrepressible  native  force,  breaking  out  in  the  midst 
of  his  tenderest  sentiment,  darting  helter-skelter  over 
all  his  pages,  sometimes  threatening,  sometimes  strik- 
ing sharp  and  hard,  provoking  at  one  moment  and  de- 
lighting at  another. 

Some  modern  English  and  American  writers  assert 
that  a  genius  for  humor  does  not  belong  to  the  German 
people,  and  that  its  highest  forms  are  not  manifested  in 


BICHTEB.  391 

their  literature.  I  entirely  disagree  with  this  view. 
There  are  traces  of  a  very  genuine  humor  in  Luther : 
Fischart  overflows  with  it,  and  in  the  last  century 
Lichtenberg  will  compare  with  any  wit  of  Queen  Anne's 
time.  Although  Professor  of  Mathematics  and  the  Na- 
tural Sciences  at  Gottingen,  Lichtenberg  achieved  for 
himself  a  distinct  place  in  literature.  My  attention  was 
first  called  to  his  works,  some  years  ago,  by  Fritz 
Eeuter,  the  Platt-deutsche  humorist  of  our  day.  I  think 
even  our  extravagant  American  idea  of  humor  will  ap- 
preciate his  remark  that  "  a  donkey  is  simply  a  horse 
translated  into  Dutch;"  or  the  manner  in  which  he 
describes  one  of  his  pompous  and  pretentious  contem- 
poraries, by  saying :  "  He  sits  down  between  his  two 
little  dogs,  and  calls  himself  Daniel  in  the  lions'  den." 
In  fact,  when  he  says  that  "a  man  who  has  stolen 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars  ought  to  be  able  to  live 
honestly,"  we  think  we  hear  an  American  speak.  He 
alone  would  prove  the  genuineness  of  German  humor, 
if  it  were  necessary  to  be  done. 

Richter's  life^was  passed  within  narrow  limits,  and 
exhibits  neither  picturesque  situations  nor  startling 
dramatic  changes  ;  yet  it  is  none  the  less  a  story  of 
deep  interest.  His  grandfather  was  a  Franconian  cler- 
gyman, of  whom  he  says  that  "  he  was  equally  poor  and 
pious ; "  his  father  was  even  poorer,  but  with  no  in- 
crease of  piety  to  compensate  for  it;  and  in  1763,  at  the 
little  village  of  Wunsiedel,  in  the  Franconian  mountains, 


392  OEBMAir  LITERATURE. 

he  liimself  was  born  to  a  long  inheritance  of  privation. 
The  first  twelve  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  a  village 
called  Joditz,  near  the  town  of  Hof,  in  northern  Bavaria. 
The  beauty  of  the  scenery,  with  its  contrasts  of  dark 
fir-clad  hills,  sloping  fields  and  bright  green  meadows, 
awoke  in  him  that  susceptibility  to  all  the  forms  and  the 
phases  of  Nature,  which  is  one  of  the  charms  of  his 
works.  His  playmates  were  the  children  of  the  peas- 
ants, and  through  them  he  learned  the  life  of  the  com- 
mon people.  His  father,  with  a  beggarly  salary  as  cler- 
gyman, had  a  large  family  of  children,  who  were  both 
healthy  and  hungry,  and  he  Avas  barely  able  to  feed, 
clothe  and  instruct  them.  During  the  long  winter  even- 
ings the  family  burned  pine-splints  instead  of  candles. 

As  a  boy,  Eichter  attended  school  in  Hof  and  in  a 
neighboring  town  to  which  his  father  was  transferred. 
He  was  an  insatiable  reader,  borrowing  books  wherever 
he  could  discover  any.  It  made  little  diflference  what 
the  contents  were  :  so  they  were  books,  he  was  satisfied. 
He  furnished  himself  with  paper,  jjen  and  ink,  copied 
everything  which  made  an  impression  on  him  as  he 
read,  and  finally  stitched  the  sheets  together  to  form  a 
book.  He  continued  this  habit  for  many  years,  and  the 
result  was  a  manuscript  library,  stuffed  with  the  plun- 
der of  thousands  of  volumes.  Everything  was  there — 
theology  and  tin-ware,  art  and  artichokes,  science,  cook- 
ery, ideas  of  heaven,  making  of  horseshoes,  aesthetics, 
edible   mushrooms,  mythology,  millinery — in  short,  a 


BICHTER.  393 

tolerably  complete  cyclopsedia,  lacking  only  the  alpha- 
betical arrangement.  When  he  could  find  no  printed 
volumes  to  borrow,  he  read  these  manuscript  collections 
over  again,  and  a  good  part  of  the  knowledge  contained 
in  them  stuck  to  his  memory. 

During  his  seventeenth  year  his  father  died,  and  the 
family  would  probably  have  starved,  except  for  a  little 
help  given  now  and  then  by  the  mother's  relatives.  In 
1781,  being  eighteen  years  old,  Richter  went  to  the 
University  of  Leipzig,  hoping  to  live  by  teaching  while 
he  studied  theology.  But  the  uncouth  country-boy 
found  no  pupils.  How  he  managed  to  live  there  for 
two  years  none  of  his  biographers  fully  explain  :  the 
only  thing  certain  is  that  he  was  forced  to  abscond  to 
escape  imprisonment  for  debt.  Those  two  years,  how- 
ever, decided  his  vocation  for  life  :  he  gave  up  theology, 
consecrated  himself  to  literature,  and  published  the 
first  part  of  a  work  entitled  "■Die  GrotildndiscJien  Prozesse  " 
(The  Greenland  Lawsuits).  Eichter  himself  says, 
forty  years  later,  that  it  was  written  in  his  eighteenth 
year,  after  daily  association  with  Pope,  Swift,  Young 
and  Erasmus  ;  but  the  reader  who  is  familiar  with 
those  authors  will  look  in  vain  for  the  least  echo  of 
their  stjde  and  manner — from  beginning  to  end  Eichter's 
own  grotesque  individuality  is  as  clearly  marked  as  in 
any  one  of  his  later  works.  The  title  was  well  calcu- 
lated to  excite  curiosity ;  hence  the  greater  exasperation 
of  the  reader,  when,  instead  of  some  strange  Arctic  story 
17* 


394  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

or  fragment  of  forgotten  history,  ho  found  merely  six 
Essays— "On  Authors,"  "On  Theologians,"  "On  the 
vulgar  Pride  of  Ancestry,"  "  On  Women  and  Dandies," 
and  "On  the  Prohibition  of  Books."  If,  nevertheless, 
he  attempted  to  read  one  of  these  Essays,  he  was 
confused,  at  the  outset,  by  a  style  which  at  that  time 
must  have  suggested  insanity.  The  minds  of  some 
authors  are  like  a  lamp  which  illuminates  the  sub- 
ject, more  or  less  brilliantly,  from  one  side  :  others 
walk  around  the  subject,  and  light  it  carefully  on  all 
sides ;  but  here  was  one  which  seemed  to  touch  off  a 
collection  of  fire-works,  fizzing,  snapping  and  popping 
in  all  directions,  in  the  midst  of  which  a  part  of  the 
subject  sometimes  gleamed  in  blue  fire,  then  another 
part  in  red  fire,  and  then  again  a  dozen  rockets  rushed 
off  into  the  sky,  leaving  the  subject  in  complete  dark- 
ness. It  is  very  evident  to  me  that  in  addition  to 
Pope,  Swift  and  Erasmus,  Richter  had  been  attending 
lectures  on  physiology.  The  book  is  crammed  with 
illustrations  of  the  most  extraordinary  kind,  drawn 
from  that  science.  Two  sentences  from  the  first  essay 
will  suffice  to  give  you  an  idea  of  its  general  character. 
In  speaking  of  the  literary  pretenders  and  imitators  of 
the  time,  he  says :  "  In  the  dialogue  of  tragedy,  the 
slang  of  the  rabble  is  now  wedded  to  the  tone  of  the 
ode  ;  the  jests  of  beer-bibbers  and  the  songs  of  seraphs 
embrace  upon  the  same  tongue,  as  jugglers  draw  wine 
and  water  from  the  same  barrel.     The  saliva  of  poetry 


BICHTEB.  395 

makes  tlie  halting  tongue  of  passion  limber,  and  tlie 
poetic  quill  vaccinates  the  dumb  woe  with  rhetorical 
pustules." 

Of  course  the  success  of  such  a  work  was  simply  im- 
possible. The  reader,  who  expected  either  clear  wis- 
dom or  intelligible  wit,  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
a  man  who  seemed  to  be  grinning  through  a  horse-col- 
lar. But,  under  all  the  contortions  of  a  manner  which 
perplexed,  amused  and  offended  at  the  same  time,  there 
lurked  the  genius  of  the  man.  A  few,  a  very  few  per- 
sonal friends  began  to  believe  in  him.  It  must  be  said, 
in  illustration  of  his  integrity  of  character,  that  he  never 
afterwards  made  the  slightest  attempt  to  render  his 
style  more  acceptable  to  the  public.  It  had  to  be  ac- 
quired, almost  like  a  new  language,  before  he  became 
popular.  We  have  a  similar  instance  in  English  Litera- 
ture. "When  Carlyle's  "  Sartor  Resartus  "  first  appeared, 
as  a  serial  in  Frazer's  Magazine,  the  publisher  would 
have  discontinued  it,  in  despair,  but  for  the  letters  of 
earnest  appreciation  received  from  two  men,  one  of 
whom  was  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  This  was  in  1835 ; 
and  in  1870  the  same  work,  in  a  cheap  popular  edition, 
reached  a  sale  of  40,000  copies. 

When  Tlichter  left  Leipzig,  as  an  absconding  debtor 
and  an  unsuccessful  author,  he  seemed  to  have  reached 
the  lowest  depth  of  misfortune,  and  there  was  appar- 
ently no  way  of  rising  out  of  it.  In  fact,  he  stuck  there 
for  years,  living  with  his  widowed  mother  in  the  town  of 


396  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

Hof,  iu  a  state  bordering  on  starvation.  He  was  already 
a  man,  in  tlie  maturity  and  consistency  of  his  cliaracter. 
Even  liis  personal  appearance  gave  rise  to  the  bitterest 
prejudice  against  him.  He  cut  off  the  queue,  which  all 
men  carried  at  the  time,  wore  his  brown  locks  loose, 
without  powder,  flung  away  the  thick  cravat,  which  then 
reached  from  the  collar-bone  to  the  ears,  and  walked 
the  streets  with  bare  throat, — often  without  a  hat. 

This  revolt  against  what  was  then  not  only  respecta- 
bility, but  decency,  shut  him  out  from  occupation  which 
he  might  otherwise  have  obtained.  There  is  nothing 
which  the  world  is  so  slow  to  forgive  as  an  independ- 
ence in  regard  to  personal  appearance  and  habits.  The 
greatest  living  English  poet  once  assured  me  that  there 
is  not  courage  enough  in  all  London  to  make  a  visit  in 
a  felt  hat.  Richter  was  one  of  the  purest  of  men,  yet 
for  this  independence  he  was  branded  as  immoral ;  one 
of  the  most  religious  of  natures,  he  was  called  an  athe- 
ist. A  clergyman  in  Hof  possessed  a  work  which  Eichter 
was  very  anxious  to  read,  but  the  clergyman  angrily 
refused  to  lend  it,  unless  Richter  would  first  wear  a 
cravat  and  powder  his  hair ! 

After  three  years  of  painful  struggle,  a  university 
friend  finally  procured  Eichter  a  situation  as  private 
tutor  in  his  father's  family,  and  thus  for  three  years 
longer  the  suffering  man  was  at  least  fed  and  clothed. 
Then  he  established  a  school  of  his  own  in  a  little 
town  near  Hof,  and  labored  as  a  gentle,  if  an  unwilling, 


BICHTER.  397 

pedagogue  for  four  years.  This  brings  us  to  tlie  year 
1794,  the  beginning  of  his  literary  success,  the  first 
hope  of  which  led  him  to  give  up  the  school  and  re- 
turn to  his  mother,  whom  he  tenderly  cherished  until 
her  death  in  1797.  He  then  left  Hof  forever,  and  went 
to  Leipzig  and  Berlin. 

This  period  of  Richter's  life  embraces  ten  years  of 
painful  and  discouraging  struggles,  and  four  years  of 
partial  success.  A  knowledge  of  it  is  of  the  greatest  im- 
portance in  estimating  both  his  personal  character  and 
his  intellectual  development.  The  name  of  Hof  sug- 
gests to  me  an  illustration  of  the  ignorance  which  a 
man  may  manifest,  and  yet  be  renowned  as  a  scholar. 
Prosper  Merimee  is  considered  the  first  German  scholar 
of  his  time  in  France,  yet  he  never  took  the  trouble  to 
inform  himself  that  Hof  is  a  Bavarian  town.  He  sup- 
poses it  to  mean  the  Court  of  some  reigning  prince,  and, 
in  spite  of  the  absurdity  and  the  contradictions  which 
ensue,  he  continually  says  of  Richter,  while  he  and  his 
mother  were  starving  together  :  "  Comme  il  etait  d  la 
Cour!'' 

Richter  meant  to  continue  his  "  Greenland  Lawsuits," 
but  no  publisher  would  even  look  at  them.  He  waited 
five  years,  and  in  1788  published  a  work  entitled 
"  Auswalil  aus  des  Teufels  Papieren "  (Selections  from 
the  Papers  of  the  Devil),  a  collection  of  essays,  full 
of  keen  and  grotesque  satire,  but  neither  attractive 
nor  very   profitable  reading.     His  long  struggle  with 


398  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

poverty  and  witli  tlie  narrow,  unjust  prejudices  of 
tlie  community  in  wliicli  lie  lived,  gave  a  sharp  and 
bitter  tone  to  his  mind  wliich  delayed  his  literary  suc- 
cess, and  thus  repeated  his  misfortune  in  a  new  form. 
But  a  change  was  now  near  at  hand,  and,  singularly 
enough,  it  came  through  a  moral  rather  than  an  intel- 
lectual development.  He  was  one  day  so  assailed  and 
ridiculed  by  some  of  his  narrow-minded  neighbors,  that 
the  strongest  feeling  of  resentment  was  aroused.  "While 
he  was  trying  to  call  up  words  severe  enough  to  express 
it,  his  eye  fell  upon  some  boys  who  were  playing  near. 
He  saw  suddenly,  as  in  a  vision,  the  troubles  and  the 
sorrows  which  would  leave  their  marks  on  those  bright, 
happy  faces ;  he  felt  the  pangs  which  the  most  fortunate 
life  cannot  escaj)e  :  all  that  men  suffer  crowded  upon 
his  mind,  softened  his  heart,  and  he  turned  away  in 
silence  from  his  persecutors.  The  same  day  he  wrote  in 
his  journal:  "Henceforth  I  will  assert  my  rights  as 
firmly  as  ever,  but  always  with  gentleness." 

His  next  work,  finished  in  1791,  marks  this  new 
departure.  It  is  called :  "  Das  Leben  des  vergniigten 
Schulmeisterleins  Wuz'"  (The  Life  of  the  Cheerful  Little 
Schoolmaster  Wuz).  Here  he  forsakes  the  essay,  and 
attempts  what  might  be  called  a  romance  if  it  had 
either  a  plot  or  a  consistent  narrative.  The  characters, 
as  in  all  his  later  works,  are  sometimes  wonderfully 
minute  and  realistic  studies  from  actual  life,  and  some- 
times merely  mouth-pieces  for  the  expression  of   the 


RICHTE.  399 

author's  own  liumor  and  fancy.  Many  of  the  scenes 
are  evidently  pictures  of  his  own  personal  experience, 
very  minutely  sketched,  but  at  the  same  time  so  deli- 
cately and  sportively  that  they  never  weary  the  reader. 

Ptichter  felt  that  he  had  at  last  discovered  the  true 
field  for  his  willful  genius.  His  few  friends  gave  him 
hearty  encouragement,  and  it  only  remained  to  Avin 
back  the  public  which  he  had  repelled.  His  next  work, 
"jDi'e  w?iSic7i^&are  Zof/e"  (The  Invisible  Lodge),  was  the 
turning-point  in  his  fortunes.  It  was  finished  in  the 
summer  of  1792,  and  sent,  with  an  anonymous  letter,  to 
an  author  named  Moritz,  in  Berlin,  begging  him  to  read 
it  and,  if  possible,  to  find  a  publisher  for  it.  Moritz 
groaned  when  he  saw  the  package,  and  left  the  letter 
unopened  for  several  days.  When  he  finally  broke  the 
seal  and  read  the  first  sentences,  he  cried  out :  "  This 
must  be  from  Goethe ! "  He  then  began  to  read  the 
manuscript  aloud  to  some  friends,  and  very  soon  ex- 
claimed :  "  This  is  new  and  wonderful :  this  is  more 
than  Goethe  !  "  To  Eichter  he  wrote  :  "  Who  are  you? 
What  are  you  ?  The  man  who  has  written  these  works 
is  immortal !  "  A  package  of  a  hundred  ducats  accom- 
panied the  letter ;  and  Kichter,  reeling  and  staggering 
like  a  drunken  man,  from  a  joy  so  intense  as  to  be 
incredible,  hastened  home  to  pour  them  in  a  golden 
stream  into  the  lap  of  his  mother. 

If  the  enthusiasm  of  Moritz  did  not  communicate 
itself  to  a  very  large  circle  of  readers,  still  an  audience 


400  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

was  secured ;  and  Richter's  next  work :  "Hesperus  oder 
funfuiidvierzig  Hundsposttacje  "  (Hesperus,  or  Forty-five 
Dog-Post  Days),  which  appeared  two  years  afterwards, 
brought  him  to  the  knowledge  of  all  the  authors  and 
the  critics  of  Germany.  A  place  was  made  for  him  in 
literature,  and  a  party  was  recruited  for  him  out  of  the 
ranks  of  the  reading  public.  Herder  hailed  him  as 
a  friend  and  an  ally :  the  sentiment  of  the  Storm  and 
Stress  period,  so  long  deprived  of  the  luxury  of  weep- 
ing, blessed  him  through  the  fresh  tears  which  fell 
upon  his  pages  ;  and  a  short  time  sufiiced  to  transform 
the  ridiculous,  despised,  unpowdered,  bare-throated 
schoolmaster  of  Hof  into  a  sort  of  pastoral  and  idyllic 
demi-god,  whom  princesses  sought  as  a  guest. 

Apart  from  the  new  and  exceptional  genius  which  he 
brought  into  literature,  there  were  several  reasons  for 
Richter's  sudden  popularity.  The  increasing  excellence 
of  Goethe  and  Schiller,  inform  and  proiDortion,  was  car- 
rying them  beyond  the  sympathies  of  that  large  class 
who  demand  feeling  and  warmth  and  a  certain  abandon 
in  their  favorite  authors  :  the  new  romantic  school, 
headed  by  Tieck  and  the  Schlegels,  was  not  yet  suffi- 
ciently developed  to  supply  the  public  need ;  and  jeal- 
ousy of  the  Weimar  circle,  in  other  parts  of  German}', 
operated  to  the  advantage  of  any  new  author  who  pro- 
mised to  be  a  rival.  Richter  kept  the  place  which  he 
had  made  for  himself.  His  later  works  all  retain  the 
character  of  his  earlier  ones.     Except  as  they  were  en- 


RICHTEB.  401 

riclied  from  liis  experience  or  Lis  acquired  knowledge, 
they  show  few  traces  of  development.  In  this  respect 
there  could  be  no  stronger  contrast  than  he  presents  to 
Schiller.  The  only  literary  endeavor  which  we  can 
trace  in  his  works  is  that  of  exaggerating  or  multiply- 
ing the  eccentricities  of  his  style. 

In  1796,  Eicliter  visited  Jena  and  Weimar,  and  made 
the  personal  acquaintance  of  all  the  great  authors.  He 
first  met  Herder,  walking  in  the  park.  Hushing  up  to 
him,  he  cried  out :  "Art  thou  lie?'''  "I  am,"  said  Her- 
der, "and  thou  art  he!"  "Whereupon  they  fell  into 
each  other's  arms.  Richter  was  drawn  into  a  circle 
which  was  very  hostile  to  Goethe,  and  although  the 
latter  treated  him  with  great  kindness,  he  took  no  pains 
to  secure  Goethe's  friendship.  He  seems  also  to  have  en- 
tirely misunderstood  Schiller's  nature  :  in  fact,  his  head 
was  a  little  turned  by  the  praises  showered  upon  him 
by  persons  more  demonstrative  than  the  two  authors : 
he  seems  to  have  exj)ected  kisses,  embraces  and  tears, 
at  the  first  meeting,  and  calls  Goethe  frozen  and  Schiller 
stony,  because  they  only  shook  hands  and  invited  him 
to  dinner.  In  his  letters  to  Herder  and  Knebel,  he  ex- . 
pressed  these  crude  impressions,  and  tlie}^-  were  soon 
repeated  in  the  gossip  of  Weimar.  The  result  was 
Richter's  complete  estrangement  from  the  two  men 
who  most  might  have  helped  him  onward  and  up- 
ward, even  as  they  helped  each  other.  Their  cor- 
respondence shows   that  they  were  both    profoundly 


n<k  )  1 


402  OEEMAN  LITERATURE. 

interested  in  liim,   and  inclined    towards   a    friendly 
association. 

After  liis  mother's  death,  Eichter  lived  a  year  in 
Leipzig,  a  second  in  Weimar,  and  then  two  years  in 
Berlin,  where,  in  1801,  he  married  Caroline  Meyer,  the 
daughter  of  a  government  official.  He  first  selected 
Meiningen  as  a  residence,  but,  in  1805,  settled  perma- 
nently in  the  town  of  Bayreuth,  Franconia.  Three 
years  later,  the  Prince-Primate,  Dalberg,  the  only  eccle- 
siastical ruler  whom  Napoleon  did  not  suppress  in  Ger- 
many, gave  him  a  pension  of  one  thousand  florins  (four 
hundred  dollars)  annually,  which  was  continued  to  him, 
after  the  liberation  of  Germany,  by  the  King  of  Bava- 
ria. The  remainder  of  his  life  was  peaceful  and  un- 
eventful. He  fell  into  a  regular  habit  of  authorship, 
and  not  a  single  year  passed  without  one  or  more  new 
works  from  his  pen.  In  order  to  avoid  interruption, 
he  hired  a  room  in  a  little  tavern  on  a  hill,  two  or  three 
miles  from  Bayreuth.  Some  years  ago  I  visited  the 
place,  and  found  a  garret  chamber  with  one  window, 
two  chairs,  some  shelves,  upon  which  Eichter  kept  his 
manuscript  cyclopaedia,  and  a  writing-desk,  in  the 
drawer  of  which  lay  an  unj^ublished  manuscript  in  his 
own  handwriting,  entitled  :  "  Some  Observations  upon 
us  Fools."  Some  old  persons  whom  I  met  there  de- 
scribed to  me  the  author,  as  they  had  seen  him  walking 
out  from  the  town  every  morning  and  back  every  even- 
ing, with  bare  throat,  a  bottle  of  wine  in  each  side- 


RICHTER.  403 

pocket,  and  a  wliite  poodle-dog  at  his  heels.  One 
man  added  :  "  I  was  at  his  funeral,  and  he  was  the 
most  beautiful  corpse  I  ever  saw."  He  died  at  the 
close  of  the  year  1825,  not  quite  sixty-three  years 
old. 

The  other  works  of  Richter  which  are  best  known, 
are  "  Titan,'''  which  is  generally  considered  his  greatest ; 
"  Blumen-  Frucht-  unci  Dornenstucke,  oder  Ehestand,  Tod 
und  Hoclizeit  des  Armcnadvokaten  Siebenlids"  (Flower, 
Fruit  and  Thorn  Pieces,  or  Married  Life,  Death  and 
Wedding  of  the  Lawyer  of  the  Poor,  Siebenkiis) ;  "  Das 
Kampanerthal ;"  "  FlegeljaJirc ;  "  "  Levana  oder  Erzieh- 
ungslehre  "  (a  Theory  of  Education) ;  "  Dr.  Katzenber'ger^s 
Badereise"  (Journey  to  a  Watering-Place),  and  "  Vor- 
scliide  der  Aesthetih  "  ( Introduction  to  iEsthetics).  Ex- 
cept the  last,  all  these  works  must  be  called  romances, 
in  the  absence  of  any  better  term.  He  published 
also  a  number  of  smaller  humorous  essays,  the  most 
of  which  are  now  but  little  read,  except  by  his  spe- 
cial admirers.  The  complete  edition  of  his  works, 
published  after  his  death,  comprises  sixty  small  vol- 
umes. It  is  very  evident  that  it  finally  became  some- 
thing of  a  task  to  him  to  invent  new  eccentricities  in 
his  manner  of  treating  a  subject,  and  he  sometimes 
carries  the  grotesque  to  the  verge  of  idiocy.  In  "ifes- 
perus"  the  chapters  are  called  "Dog-Post  Days,"  be- 
cause a  dog  is  supposed  to  bring  them  to  the  author, 
one  by  one,  in  a  bottle  fastened  to  liis  neck  :  in  "  Tifan  '* 


404  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

tliere  are  no  cliapters,  but  "  Johcljjerioden"  subdivided 
into  ''Zykel;"  in  the  "  Flegeljahre'^  tlie  cliapters  have 
the  names  of  minerals — mica-slate,  feldspar,  hornblende 
— and  in  the  "  Invisible  Lodge  "  they  are  called  "  Sec- 
tor s^  Moreover,  there  is  no  regular  succession  of  these 
sectors,  cycles  or  minerals  :  they  are  continually  inter- 
rupted, and  the  progress  of  the  story — what  there  is  of 
it — is  delayed  by  "  extra  sheets,"  "  j)ostscripts,"  "  pasto- 
ral letters,"  "  addenda,"  "  intercalary  days,"  "  circulars," 
etc.  In  one  of  the  works  the  story  stops  suddenly,  and 
then  appears  a  long  letter  to  the  publisher,  stating  that 
the  writer  is  the  author's  sister,  that  her  brother  has 
been  bitten  by  a  dog,  fears  that  he  may  have  hydro- 
phobia, and  must  suspend  his  labors  !  Many  of  the 
titles  also  have  no  relation  whatever  to  the  contents : 
he  calls  an  essay  of  a  somewhat  critical  and  biographi- 
cal nature,  "  Observations  made  under  the  skull  of  a 
giantess."  In  short,  there  are  no  bounds  to  the  willful, 
whimsical  pranks  of  his  mind.  The  reader  is  led  by 
glimpses  of  a  delicate  Ariel  into  swamps  and.  briers, 
over  stone  heaps,  and  is  sometimes  left  alone,  in  the 
middle  of  a  labyrinth,  to  find  the  outlet  as  best  he  may. 
If  he  delights  in  quaint  fancy,  tender  sentiment,  pure 
human  sympathy,  exquisite  pictures  of  nature,  and  a 
power  of  suggestiveness  which  keeps  his  own  mind 
constantly  at  work,  he  will  bear  with  the  tricksome 
sprite  and  follow.  But  few  persons,  I  suspect,  could 
endure  the  caj)rice  and  the  arrogance  of  Richter's  style. 


BICHTEB.  405 

were  it  not  for  tlie  strengtli  and  tlie  sweetness  of  his 
moral  nature. 

His  works  are  somewhat  difficult  to  read,  even  to 
Germans,  not  so  much  from  the  obscurity  of  his  thought 
as  its  utter  want  of  form.  He  often  tells  jou  that  he  has 
a  certain  thing  to  say,  and  then  makes  the  tour  of  the 
world  before  he  says  it.  The  reader  finds  himself  in  the 
condition  of  a  patient  waiting  for  the  medicine  which 
a  friend  has  gone  to  buy,  but  who,  on  the  way,  drops 
in  at  the  baker's,  and  the  blacksmith's  shop,  hospital, 
picture-gallery,  prison,  hears  a  prayer  in  the  church, 
takes  a  dancing-lesson,  has  his  hair  cut,  and  looks  into 
twenty  volumes  at  a  second-hand  book-stall.  After  all 
this,  the  friend  brings  the  medicine,  and  he  is  so  kind 
and  sympathetic,  he  looks  into  your  eyes  with  such 
love,  his  voice  is  so  soothing,  that  your  vexation  dies 
instantly,  and  in  ten  minutes  you  let  him  go  out  again 
on  another  errand  of  the  same  kind. 

To  acquire  a  knowledge  of  Richter  with  the  least 
difficulty,  one  should  take  one  of  his  works  along  as  a 
traveling-companion  on  a  railway.  He  may  then  be 
read  gradually,  with  many  interruptions,  with  pauses  to 
pursue  a  little  way  the  fresh  tracks  of  thought  he  is 
continually  suggesting,  and  with  glimpses  of  landscape 
which  harmonize  with  his  pages.  "We  cannot  feel  much 
interest  in  his  characters,  for  they  are  too  shadowy, 
except  when  they  are  drawn  from  humble  life  and  from 
actual  persons.     "When  Eichter  describes   the   narrow 


406  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

circumstances  of  the  poor,  tlieir  customary  joys  and 
sorrows,  their  struggles  or  perplexities  of  heart  or 
mind,  he  is  wholly  admirable ;  but  when  he  rises  to 
that  class  which  possesses  the  ideally  impressible  ele- 
ment, he  often  makes  us  laugh  now  where  his  first 
readers  were  deeply  moved.  His  lofty  heroes  and  hero- 
ines weep  whenever  they  see  anything  beautiful ;  they 
embrace  and  kiss  whenever  they  agree  in  sentiment; 
the  sight  of  a  sunset  from  the  top  of  a  tower  gives  them 
thoughts  of  suicide,  and  they  never  look  up  to  the  stars 
without  sighing  to  be  disembodied  spirits.  They  gush 
with  an  emotion  which  is  never  exhausted :  they  feed 
on  hopes  and  longings,  and  are  never  happy  except  when 
they  are  inexpressibly  sad.  Yet,  fools  as  they  are,  we 
cannot  help  loving  them.  If  they  could  visit  us,  for 
only  half  an  hour,  on  a  moonlight  night  of  summer, 
when  the  woodbines  are  in  blossom,  we  should  be 
delighted  with  their  company ;  but  Heaven  forbid  that 
they  should  come  to  us  in  the  day-time,  and  especially 
in  the  market-place ! 

I  speak  of  Richter's  extravagant  sentiment,  not  only 
because  it  is  one  of  his  prominent  characteristics,  but 
also  because  it  immediately  presents  itself  to  those  who 
open  almost  any  one  of  his  romances  for  the  first  time. 
"  Siebenlids "  is  the  least  objectionable  in  this  respect. 
The  characters  of  the  poor,  dreaming,  unpractical  poet 
of  a  lawyer  and  of  his  exasperatingly  matter-of-fact  wife, 
who,  in  the  midst  of  his   eloquent  harangue  on  Eter- 


BICHTER.  407 

nity,  interrupts  him  by  saying  :  "  Don't  forget  to  leave 
off  your  left  stocking  to-morrow  morning :  there  is  a 
hole  in  it !  " — are  the  author  himself  and  his  good  old 
mother.  Memory,  in  this  work,  acts  as  a  good  genius, 
constantly  calling  back  his  fancy  from  its  wanderings  ; 
but  in  "  Titan "  and  "  Hesperus  "  there  is  no  such  re- 
straint. The  characters  in  these  works  float  over  the 
earth,  and  only  now  and  then  touch  it  with  the  tips  of 
their  toes.  After  waving  their  arms  towards  heaven, 
and  gazing  through  tears  on  the  Milky  Way,  for  many 
pages,  they  sometimes  come  down  a  little,  and  we  hope 
that  they  will  soberly  walk  beside  us  for  a  few  paces ; 
but  no!  the  contact  of  the  stable  reality  sends  them 
off  with  a  ricochet,  and  the  forms  that  seemed  human 
become  indistinct  masses  of  electric  light  and  angels' 
feathers  in  the  distance.  Contrasted  with  Goethe  and 
Schiller,  or  indeed  with  any  of  his  contemporaries,  we 
at  once  perceive  Kichter's  prominent  fault :  he  has  not 
the  slightest  sense  of  form  in  literature.  That  patient 
thought,  by  which  a  conception  is  slowly  wrought  into 
consistent  and  proportioned  being,  was  utterly  unknown 
to  him.  Instead  of  complete  structures,  where  the  idea 
sits  enthroned  like  a  god  in  his  temple,  he  gives  us 
piles  of  materials,  fragments  of  columns  and  altars, 
stones  carved  with  fair  faces  of  women  and  cherubs, 
with  grinning  masks,  or  with  wild  tangles  of  arabesque 
designs.  In  fact,  he  strongly  suggests  the  Gothic  orna- 
mentation of  the  Middle  Ages,  with  its  mixture  of  roses 


408  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

and  thistles,  its  leaves  running  into  heads,  its  bodies 
tapering  into  quaint  mathematical  designs,  and  its  sin- 
gular blending  of  meaning  and  willful  sport.  We  see  the 
same  tendency,  to  indulge  in  the  jDurely  fantastic,  in 
Albert  Diirer  and  other  early  German  painters.  It  is 
an  element  compounded  of  genius,  egotism,  vanity  and 
fancy ;  for  the  author  insists  on  giving  us  the  play  and 
not  the  labor  of  his  mind, — the  detached  suggestions 
and  sketches,  instead  of  the  perfect  picture.  If  this 
were  Richter's  only  characteristic,  he  would  be  an  exact 
embodiment  of  the  undeveloped  German  mind.  Intel- 
lect, in  a  crude,  formless  state  of  nature,  is  always  will- 
ful and  arrogant.  Hence,  the  worship  of  form,  as  an 
ideal  to  be  attained,  purifies  the  author's  conception 
from  his  merely  personal  whims  and  moods,  and  thrusts 
his  egotism  and  vanity  into  the  background,  while  forcing 
his  fancy  to  serve  as  the  law  of  beauty  dictates.  Kichter 
might  have  learned  something  of  this,  to  his  endless  ad- 
vantage, had  he  allied  himself  with  Goethe  and  Schiller, 
and  borne  with  their  honest  criticism,  instead  of  giving 
himself  up  wholly  to  the  luxury  of  being  praised,  em- 
braced and  wept  over.  In  their  correspondence  the 
two  poets  called  him  a  tragelaph,  or  Indian  antelope, 
but  there  was  no  offence  in  applying  this  term  to  the 
gambols  of  such  a  free  and  nimble  intellect. 

Kichter's  social  success  had  also  its  share  in  mis- 
leading him.  His  indejDendence  and  defiance  of  per- 
secution, during  these  long  years  of  bitter  poverty,  had 


RICHTER.  409 

given  him  an  air  of  pride  and  dignity;  lie  liad  a 
strong  and  finely  -  formed  body  and  a  superb  head, 
with  a  brow  like  Jupiter's,  and  the  frank  eyes  and 
mouth  of  a  boy;  and  thus,  at  the  age  of  thirty-three, 
he  burst  upon  the  world,  which  first  knew  him  nearly 
at  the  level  of  his  highest  performance.  He  was  a 
welcome  phenomenon  at  the  courts  of  princes,  Uases 
with  all  their  ordinary  associations.  Here  was  a  ver- 
itable child  of  nature,  who  yet  observed  the  laws  of 
society.  The  aristocratic  circles  were  charmed  by  his 
originality,  brilliancy  and  gentleness,  while  they  dreaded 
to  provoke  his  powers  of  humor  and  satire ;  so  he  was 
allowed  to  say  things  which  startled  the  courtiers, 
he  was  petted  and  caressed,  and  at  length  innocently 
led  to  believe  that  the  more  freely  he  j^oured  forth  all 
the  ingredients  of  his  nature,  without  regard  to  their 
arrangement,  the  more  he  would  gratify  the  world.  tBis 
literary  development  therefore  ceased,  as  I  have  already 
said.  His  pen  became  a  permanent  escape-pipe  or  drain 
for  his  mind,  carrying  ojff  every  thought  as  it  welled  up. 
Moreover,  humor  being  the  distinctive  quality  of  his 
genius,  he  could  scarcely  have  risen  to  a  higher  j^lane 
without  losing  something  of  it  on  the  way.  Humor  is  a 
quality  which  may  be  wisely  governed,  refined  by  study 
and  exercise,  but  it  rigidly  holds  the  mind  to  its  own 
special  sphere  of  thought  and  invention.  It  may  slyly 
peep  into  the  cloisters  of  earnest  thought,  but  it  keeps 
far  away  from  the  altars  of  aspiration. 
18 


410  GEItMAN  LITERATURE. 

Kichter  is  frequently  called  a  poet  in  proso,  but  the 
title  is  hardly  correct.  I  will  admit  that  he  possessed 
a  thoroughly  poetic  appreciation  of  nature,  and  that  a 
few  of  his  scattered  conceptions  are  adapted  to  poetic 
treatment,  but  I  have  rarely  found  an  author  with  so 
little  of  the  poetic  faculty.  His  idea  of  prose,  for  the 
most  part,  seems  to  consist  in  tearing  up  sentences,  and 
then  putting  the  fragments  together  at  random.  Pas- 
sages of  great  tenderness  and  eloquence  are  frequent, 
but  they  are  seldom  rhythmical.  He  sometimes  refers 
to  jDoets,  but  never  quotes  a  line  from  them,  except  from 
the  classic  authors.  A  sweet  pervading  sentiment  is 
often  mistaken  for  poetry,  but  it  is  the  difference  be- 
tween a  ton  of  marble-dust  and  a  statue. 

I  have  indicated  Eichter's  chief  deficiencies,  and  I 
now  turn  to  his  equally  evident  merits.  His  humor  can 
hardly  be  illustrated  by  detached  passages  from  his 
works,  because  it  is  so  evenly  woven  into  their  entire 
textures.  It  is  full  of  grotesque  surprises,  always  whim- 
sical, often  absurd,  but  it  is  never  coarse  or  cruel.  I  have 
twice  or  thrice  found  men — not  authors — who  showed  a 
very  similar  quality  in  conversation,  where  it  is  always 
delightful.  In  Richter's  case,  the  irresistible  tendency 
to  use  all  the  knowledge  crammed  into  his  written 
cyclopsedia,  is  a  hindrance  to  its  lightest  and  freest 
exercise.  One  is  sometimes  reminded  of  a  peasant- 
character,  in  a  story  by  Auerbach,  who  always  danced 
with   three   or   four   hea^y   iron   wedges   in  his   coat- 


BICUTER.  411 

pockets,  to  keep  the  other  dancers  from  crowding  him. 
Often,  however,  his  anatomical,  chemical  or  theological 
figures  of  sjDeech  are  as  clear  and  keen  as  flashes  of 
lightning.  Then  through  the  humor  we  see  the  fea- 
tures of  some  profound  truth,  and  say  to  the  author, 
"Be  as  grotesque  as  you  please,  so  you  give  us  more  of 
this!" 

A  careful  study  of  Richter  reveals  the  element  wherein 
he  most  reflects  the  feeling  of  his  time,  and  which  ac- 
counts for  his  great  popularity.  He  represents  the  strug- 
gle between  a  real  state  of  things,  which  was  nearly  in- 
tolerable to  a  large  class  of  Germans,  and  the  dream  of 
something  better,  sweeter  and  more  harmonious  in  their 
lives.  The  more  they  felt  the  one,  the  more  intense 
became  the  other.  Socially  and  politically  the  country 
was  already  disorganized,  while  the  living  aspirations  of 
the  people  were  forced  to  accommodate  themselves  to 
the  old,  dead  forms.  There  was,  and  could  be,  no  im- 
provement until  after  a  long  season  of  bitter  experience. 
Subjection  to  France,  war,  the  mockery  of  the  Holy 
Alliance,  and  revolution — flfty  years  of  struggle — have 
brought  about  the  transition  ;  and  we  can  now  hardly 
realize  to  ourselves  the  misery  of  the  previous  situa- 
tion. We  find  some  expression  of  it  in  Schiller's  poems, 
but  it  was  embodied  in  Kichter.  He  knew  the  life  of  the 
people  as  no  other  German  author :  its  realities  were  so 
branded  into  his  nature  that  the  ideal  life,  of  which  he 
and  his  readers  dreamed,  could  not  escape  from  them. 


412  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

There  is  tlius  in  liis  works  that  continual  and  almost 
painful  "vibration  between  two  extremes,  which  is  an 
echo  of  the  general  restlessness.  Gervinus  says,  in  refer- 
ence to  this  characteristic  :  "  you  cannot  walk  with  the 
classic  cothurnus  on  one  foot,  and  the  other  foot  bare, 
without  limping."  It  is  true  that  both  extremes  are 
generally  represented  in  the  same  character ;  but  in  the 
^'  Flegeljahre,''  they  are  divided  ;  the  hero  Walt  being  the 
poetic  and  ideal,  and  his  twin-brother  Yult  the  practical 
nature.  This  is  one  of  the  least  confusing  of  Eichter's 
works,  but  it  was  never  completed.  He  is  skillful  in 
j)resenting  difficulties  ;  but  when  it  comes  to  a  solution, 
he  seems  powerless.  In  "  Siebenkds  "  also  the  two  char- 
acters are  divided,  the  wife,  Lenette,  being  the  practi- 
cal side  of  life ;  and  most  readers  will  therefore  find 
both  these  works  moie  satisfactory  than  '^  Hesperus  ^^ 
or  "  Titan,''  which  are  more  ambitious  in  design.  In 
them  the  general  plot  is  quite  hidden  by  the  aberra- 
tions of  the  characters,  and  it  would  be  very  difficult 
to  describe  that  of  either  in  an  intelligible  way.  The 
"  Invisible  Lodge  "  is  simpler,  and  an  outline  of  it  can 
be  given  in  a  few  words.  A  boy  is  taken,  in  infancy,  and 
placed  in  comfortable  subterranean  chambers,  where  the 
few  persons  who  attend  to  his  needs  and  educate  him 
impress  upon  his  mind  that  the  dark,  narrow  world 
which  he  knows  is  the  real  world.  They  describe  to 
him  sunshine,  trees,  flowers  and  all  the  varied  ajDpear- 
ances  of  nature   as   belonging  to    heaven, — a  heaven 


BICHTER.  413 

to  be  won  bj  obedience,  virtue  and  faitli.  His  subter- 
ranean life  is  meant  to  symbolize  ours  :  his  transfer  to 
the  surface  of  the  earth  that  of  our  souls  to  a  higher 
and  brighter  sj^here  of  existence.  But  the  symbolism  is 
only  material,  not  moral  and  spiritual :  the  boy  ex- 
changes lamp-light  for  sunlight,  color,  the  sounds  of 
breezes,  birds  and  streams  and  the  bliss  of  the  free  air. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  rises  from  the  innocence  and 
ignorance  of  his  subterranean  life  to  become  acquainted 
with  violence,  selfishness  and  crime.  Eichter  saw  his 
mistake,  afterwards,  and  called  the  work  "a  born  ruin." 

As  a  specimen  of  his  simpler  descriptive  style,  I  will 
quote  a  passage,  translated  by  Carlyle,  from  his  auto- 
biography, in  which  he  gives  us  a  picture  of  his  father's 
household : 

"  To  represent  the  Jodiz  life  of  our  Hans  Paul, — for  by  this  name 
we  shall  for  a  time  distinguish  him,  yet  ever  changing  it  with  others, 
— 6ur  best  course,  I  believe,  will  be  to  conduct  him  through  a  whole 
Idyl-year  ;  dividing  the  normal  year  into  four  seasons,  as  so  many 
quarterly  Idyls  ;  four  Idyls  exhaust  his  happiness. 

"For  the  rest,  let  no  one  marvel  at  findingau  Idyl-kingdom  and  pas- 
toral-world in  a  little  hamlet  and  parsonage.  In  the  smallest  bed  you 
can  raise  a  tulip-tree,  which  shall  extend  its  flowery  boiighs  over  all 
the  garden  ;  and  the  life-breath  of  joy  can  be  inhaled  as  well  through 
a  window  as  in  the  open  wood  and  sky.  Nay,  is  not  Man's  Spirit  (with 
all  its  infinite  celestial-spaces")  walled-in  within  a  six-feet  Body,  with 
integuments,  and  Malpighian  mucuses  and  capillary  tubes  ;  and  has 
only  five  strait  world-wiudows,  of  Senses,  to  open  for  the  boundless, 
round-eyed,  round-sunned  All  ; — and  yet  it  discerns  and  reproduces 
an  All! ' 

"  Scarcely  do  I  know  with  which  of  the  four  quarterly  Idyls  to 
begin  ;  for  each  is  a  little  heavenly  forecourt  to  the  next  :  however. 


414  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

the  climax  of  joys,  if  we  start  with  Winter  and  January,  will  perhaps 
be  most  apparent.  In  the  cold,  our  Father  had  commonly,  like  an 
Alpine  herdsman,  come  down  from  the  upper  altitude  of  his  study  ; 
and,  to  the  joy  of  the  children,  was  dwelling  on  the  plain  of  the  gen- 
eral family-room.  In  the  morning,  he  sat  by  a  window,  committing 
his  Sunday's  sermon  to  memory  ;  and  the  three  sons,  Fritz  (who  I 
myself  am),  and  Adam,  and  Gottlieb  carried,  by  turns,  the  full  coffee- 
cup  to  him,  and  still  more  gladly  carried  back  the  empty  one,  because 
the  carrier  was  then  entitled  to  pick  the  unmelted  remains  of  the 
sugar-candy  (taken  against  cough)  from  the  bottom  thereof.  Out  of 
doors,  truly,  the  sky  covered  all  things  with  silence  ;  the  brook  with 
ice,  the  village  with  snow :  but  in  our  rooms  there  Avas  life  ;  under  the 
stove  a  pigeon-establishment;  on  the  windows  finch-cages ;  on  the  floor, 
the  invincible  bull  brach,  our  Bonne,  the  night-guardian  of  the  court- 
yard ;  and  a  poodle,  and  the  pretty  Scharmantel  (Poll),  a  present  from 
the  Lady  von  Plotho  ; — and  close  by,  the  kitchen,  with  two  maids  ; 
and  farther  off,  against  the  other  end  of  the  house,  our  stable,  with 
all  sorts  of  bovine,  swinish  and  feathered  cattle,  and  their  noises  :  the 
threshers  with  their  flails,  also  at  work  within  the  court-yard,  I  might 
reckon  as  another  item.  In  this  way,  with  nothing  but  society  on  all 
hands,  the  whole  male  portion  of  the  household  easily  spent  their 
forenoon  in  tasks  of  memory,  not  far  from  the  female  portion,  as 
busily  employed  in  cooking. 

"Holidays  occur  in  every  occupation  ;  thus  I  too  had  my  airing 
holidays, — analogous  to  watering  holidays, — so  that  I  could  travel  out 
in  the  snow  of  the  court-yard,  and  to  the  barn  with  its  threshing. 
Nay,  was  there  a  delicate  embassy  to  be  transacted  in  the  village, — for 
example,  to  the  schoolmaster,  to  the  tailor, — I  was  sure  to  be  de- 
spatched thither  in  the  middle  of  my  lessons ;  and  thus  I  still  got 
forth  into  the  open  air  and  the  cold,  and  measured  myself  with  the 
new  snow.  At  noon,  before  our  own  dinner,  we  children  might  also, 
in  the  kitchen,  have  the  hungry  satisfaction  to  see  the  threshers 
fall-to  and  consume  their  victuals. 

"  The  afternoon,  again,  was  still  more  important,  and  richer  in 
joys.  Winter  shortened  and  sweetened  our  lessons.  In  the  long 
dusk,  our  Father  walked  to  and  fro  ;  and  the  children,  according  to 
ability,  trotted  under  his  night-gown,  holding  by  his  hands.  At 
sound  of  the  vesper-bell,  we  placed  ourselves  in  a  circle,  and  in  concert 
devotionally  chanted  the  hymn.  Die  finstre  Naclit  hricht  starTc  herein 
(The  gloomy  night  is  gathering  round).     Only  in  villages,   not  in 


RICHTER.  415 

towns,  wlaere  probably  there  is  more  night  than  day  labor,  have  the 
evening  chimes  a  meaning  and  beauty,  and  are  the  swan-song  of  the 
day  :  the  evening- bell  is  as  it  were  the  muffle  of  the  over-loud  heart, 
and,  like  a  ranee  des  vaches  of  the  plains,  calls  men  from  their  running 
and  toiling,  into  the  land  of  silence  and  dreams.  After  a  pleasant 
watching  about  the  kitchen-door  for  the  moonrise  of  candle-light,  we 
saw  our  wide  room  at  once  illuminated  and  barricaded  ;  to  wit,  the 
window-shutters  were  closed  and  bolted  ;  and  behind  these  window 
bastions  and  breastworks  the  child  felt  himself  snugly  nestled,  and 
well  secured  against  Knecht  Ruprecht,  who  on  the  outside  could  not 
get  in,  but  only  in  vain  keep  growling  and  humming." 

Those  passages  in  Kichter's  works  wliicli  are  con- 
sidered purely  sublime  by  his  admirers, — wherein  he  is 
most  earnest  and  profound — impress  us  like  a  mind 
wandering  through  Chaos,  and  only  not  bewildered  be- 
cause of  intense  faith  in  God  and  Man.  Carlyle,  in  an 
article  written  soon  after  Kichter's  death,  recognized 
his  highest  qualities  in  this  eloquent  j)assage  :  "  His 
faculties  are  all  of  gigantic  mould  ;  cumbrous,  awkward 
in  their  movements ;  large  and  splendid  rather  than 
harmonious  or  beautiful,  yet  joined  in  living  union,  and 
of  force  and  compass  altogether  extraordinary.  He 
has  an  intellect  vehement,  rugged,  irresistible  ;  crushing 
in  pieces  the  hardest  problems,  piercing  into  the  most 
hidden  combinations  of  things  and  grasping  the  most 
distant :  an  imagination  vague,  sombre,  splendid  or  ap- 
palling,— brooding  over  the  abysses  of  Being,  wander- 
ing through  Infinitude,  and  summoning  before  us,  in  its 
dim  religious  light,  shapes  of  brilliancy,  solemnity  or 
terror ;  a  fancy  of  exuberance  literally  unexampled,  for 
it  pours  forth  its  treasures  with  a  lavishness   which 


41G  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

knoAvs  no  limits,  hanging,  like  tlie  sun,  a  jewel  on  every 
grass-blade,  and  sowing  the  Earth  at  large  with  orient 
pearl." 

This  is  the  testimony  of  an  author  who  resembles 
Eichter  in  the  character  of  his  humor  and  the  arrogant 
individuality  of  his  style.  In  regard  to  the  latter,  Car- 
lyle  quotes  Lessing's  phrase  :  "  Every  man  has  his  own 
style,  like  his  own  nose,"  and  adds:  "True,  there  are 
noses  of  wonderful  dimensions,  but  no  nose  can  justly 
be  amputated  by  the  public."  I  think,  however,  that 
we  have  a  right  to  object  when  the  author  insists  on 
twisting  and  pinching  his  nose  out  of  shape,  or  changing 
its  natural  hue  into  a  shining  redness,  through  the  reck- 
less intemperance  of  his  fancy. 

To  illustrate  Kichter  by  quotations  is  like  taking 
single  trees  out  of  a  jungle  where  a  thousand  different 
kinds  are  matted  together.  There  are  remarkably  few 
short  j)assages  which  are  complete  when  torn  from  the 
context.  What  he  says  of,  or  rather  to.  Music,  has  often 
been  quoted — "  Away !  thou  speakest  of  that  which  all 
my  life  I  have  passionately  sought,  which  I  never  find, 
and  never  shall  find ! "  Another  fine  expression  is : 
"Unhappy  is  the  man  for  whom  his  own  mother  has 
not  made  all  other  mothers  -venerable !  "  In  matters 
of  faith  he  was  entirely  independent,  doubting  or  deny- 
ing as  his  nature  jorompted ;  yet  he  says :  "  When  in 
your  last  hour  all  faculty  in  the  broken  spirit  shall  fade 


BICHTEB.  417 

away  and  die  into  inanity — imagination,  tlionglit,  effort, 
enjoyment — then  at  tlie  last  will  the  night-flower  of 
Belief  alone  continue  blooming,  and  refresh  with  its 
perfume  in  the  closing  darkness."  Here  is  a  brief  pas- 
sage which  embodies  an  important  truth  :  "Truthfulness 
is  not  so  much  a  branch  as  a  blossom  of  moral,  manly 
strength.  The  weak,  whether  they  will  or  not,  must 
lie.  As  respects  children,  for  the  first  five  years  they 
utter  neither  truth  nor  falsehood — they  only  speak. 
Their  talk  is  thinking  aloud ;  and  as  one-half  of  their 
thought  is  often  an  afiirmative,  and  the  other  half  a 
negative,  and,  unlike  us,  they  express  both,  they  often 
seem  to  lie  while  they  are  only  talking  with  them- 
selves." 

I  might  multiply  short  quotations  like  these,  but 
they  would  suggest  a  false  rather  than  a  true  im- 
pression of  the  author.  His  glimpses  of  graver  thought 
are  generally  coherent,  because  the  exercise  of  his 
humor  is  suspended.  It  is  also  very  difficult  to  repro- 
duce the  peculiar  quality  of  his  prose  in  a  translation. 
Its  singular,  broken  cadences,  its  promise  of  melodies 
which  are  always  shattered  by  discords,  require  that 
the  form  should  be  almost  as  carefully  retained  as  in 
translating  poetry.  The  passages  given  by  Carlyle  are 
much  the  best  translations,  on  account  of  the  intellec- 
tual resemblances  between  him  and  Eichter. 

You  will  easily  understand  that  a  large  class  of  read- 
ers are  naturally  repelled  by  Eichter.     In  German  criti- 
18* 


418  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

cism  jou  will  find  the  most  divergent  estimates  of  liis 
genius ;  but  no  judgment  of  a  purely  literary  character 
can  be  just.  His  deep  and  tender  humanity  must  be 
recognized,  as  we  recognize  it  in  Burns  and  Hood.  In 
literary  art,  he  is  only  a  disorganizing  element,  while 
his  moral  power  and  influence  have  been  wholly  pure 
and  beneficent.  Even  his  vanity  never  offends  us,,  for 
it  is  as  candid  and  transparent  as  that  of  Hans  Chris- 
tian Andersen.  That  so  much  strength  and  weakness, 
so  much  delicacy  and  coarseness,  so  much  knowledge 
and  ignorance,  so  much  melting  sentiment  and  gro- 
tesque humor,  should  not  only  be  co-existent,  but 
mixed  through  and  through  one  another,  in  the  same 
brain,  makes  him  a  permanent  phenomenon.  There  is 
nothing  like  him  in  the  literature  of  any  country.  If 
we  call  him  great,  we  shall  find  a  thousand  reasons  for 
taking  back  the  epithet ;  yet  we  cannot  possibly  press 
him  back  into  any  middle  place.  Nothing  remains  for 
us  but  to  accept  the  term  invented  by  his  followers, 
and  call  him  '' Der  Einzuje" — "  The  Unique." 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 

BAYARD    TAYLOR'S    NOVELS. 

I.  Hannah    Thurston.      A    Story    of    American    Life. 

121110.     Household  edition,  ....     $1.50 

"  If  Bayard  Taylor  has  not  placed  himself,  as  we  are  half  inclined  to  sus- 
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— a  really  original  story,  admirably  told,  crowded  with  life-like  characters, 
full  of  delicate  and  subtle  sympathies,  with  ideas  the  most  opposite  to  his 
own,  and  lighted  up  throughout  with  that  playful  humor  which  suggests  al- 
ways wisdom  rather  than  mere  fun." — London  Spectato7. 

II.  John    Godfrey's    Fortunes.      Related  by   Himself. 

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of  American  social  life,  though  not  flattering,  is  eminently  truthful  ;  its  de- 
lineation of  character  is  delicate  and  natural  ;  its  English,  though  sometimes 
careless,  is  singularly  grateful  and  pleasant." — Cleveland  Leader. 

III.  The    Story    of    Kennett.       i2mo.      Household   edi- 
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even  the  better  kind  of  English  novels." — London  Spectator. 

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of  his  previous  productions." — N.    Y.  Evening  Post. 

"  A  tale  of  absorbing  interest." — Syracuse  Standard. 

IV.  Joseph  and  his  Friend.     A  Story  of  Pennsylvania. 
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V.  Beauty  and  the  Beast  and  Tales  of  Home.     i2mo, 

cloth,  $.75.     Household  edition,    .         .         .         .     $1   50 


Bayard  Taylor's  Complete  Works. 

The  Complete  Works  of  Bayard  Taylor.  In  sixteen 
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The  Travels,  separate,  eleven  volumes.  Household  edi- 
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P'jBLlCATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 

German  Classics  for  American  Students.  Edited  by  James 
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EXTRACTS   FROM   THE    PRESS    AND   PROFESSORS'    LETTERS. 

"  We  commend  them  most  heartily  to  our  teachers,  and  confidently  predict 
that  wherever  one  of  these  volumes  is  used,  the  whole  series  will  speedily  and  eagerly 
be  adopted." — Educational  Mont'^ly  of  Virginia. 

"  We  find  them  to  be  very  accurate  and  reliable  in  the  presentation  of  the  text, 
and  concise  and  scholarly  in  the  introduction  and  commentary.  We  are  glad  to  know 
that  we  are  not  to  lack  hereafter  what  we  have  heretofore  greatly  needed — a  carefully 
edited  and  scholarly  series  of  text  books  for  the  student  of  German  literature." — School 
Bulletin. 

"  We  cannot  commend  the  make-up  of  Hermann  and  Dorothea  too  highly, 
its  elegance  and  neatness  justifying  all  praise.  The  complete  set  will  be  as  valual)le  to 
a  student  or  to  a  reader  of  German  as  any  we  have  seen  of  its  class,  and  a  large  demand 

the  editor,  or 
Traveller. 

"  The  series  will  form  a  set  of  delightful  and  valuable  text-books  for  the  stu- 
dents of  German.  I  shall  without  doubt  introduce  some  or  all  of  them  into  my  classes." 
— Prof.  White  of  Wabash  College. 

"  They  are  the  best  edited  text-books  in  modern  languages  that  it  has  ever 
been  my  good  fortune  to  meet  with." — Prof.  Massie  of  Richmond  College. 

'•  Goethe's  Prose  deserves  special  commendation  for  the  exquisite  perfection 
of  the  text,  no  less  than  for  the  care  Prof  Hart,  so  thoroughly  at  home  on  such  subjects, 
has  displayed,  both  as  editor  and  commentator.  The  reception  of  the  experimental 
volumes  has  been  so  cordial  as  to  justify  the  publication  of  the  supplementary'  series." 
—N.  Y.  World. 

"  This  series  is  proving  its  worth  wherever  brought  into  use.  There  is  no 
question  that  the  study  of  the  German  language  might  be  greatly  extended  with  profit, 
and  as  a  means  to  an  end  the  German  classics  are  serving  an  invaluable  purpose,  by 
introducing  to  the  students  of  that  language  the  best  thoughts  in  both  poetry  and  prose 
of  the  German  literature." — Syracuse  Journal. 

"  A  gentleman  of  the  acknowledged  ability  of  Professor  Hart,  with  such  a 
praiseworthy  intention,  can  hardly  fail  to  do  such  good  work.  The  excellence  of  the 
plan  of  the  work,  and  the  thoroughness  of  the  notes  are  seen  at  a  g\a.nce."— Liberal 

Christian. 

"  They  are  treasures  of  which  students  and  lovers  of  German  literature  should 
not  fail  to  possess  themselves,  and  which  can  be  received  only  with  the  highest  favor." 
— Commonwealth. 

"  James  Morgan  Hart  is  one  of  the  best  known  American  students  of  German. 
He  has  written  several  things  on  Germany  and  the  German  character  that  entitle 
his  opinions  to  the  highest  respect.  He  is  of  all  men  the  one  most  eminently  fitted  for 
the  task  of  editing  this  series,  and  we  can  heartily  recommend  it  to  American  readers 
of  German." — The  Journal. 


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